Fort Ruddler Missions
by Sounasha
Summary: Roleplaying and missions from Fort Ruddler, all in chronological order. I roleplay Riala Goldentail.
1. Disappearing Dibbuns

Disappearing Dibbuns  
  
Fort Ruddler Mission  
  
The winter forest canopy rustled slightly, as if by a wayward breeze, as a squirrel wound her way swiftly through the treetops. There was a flash of sunlight on scarred, red-brown fur, and the woodlander paused just past the patdch of light on the thin, high pine limbs. Her bushy, rust-gold tail flicked abuot for balance when a fresh gale shook her perch, and then she was off again, her green-and-brown-mottled tunic masking her from view.  
  
Riala Goldentail made her way swiftly down the tree trunk to the ground, gazing around at the bare, wind-swept clearing carefully. Yes, this was it - the last place the most recent dibbun to disappear from Fort Ruddler had been seen. The written order from Drill Sergeant Sandfur Dunerunner ran through her mind yet again as she studied the ground for clues.  
  
"One by one the dibbuns of Fort Ruddler are disapearing. They cannot found anywhere in the fort or surrounding woodlands. You must find out who has taken them, why they were taken, and where they have gone."  
  
Gold-brown eyes noted the scarred earth, disturbed by the tracks of many paws. A group of adults and dibbuns had used this clearing for an outing just the day before, and they hadn't noticed the absence of the mischievous, adventuresome otterbabe, Jadestream, utnil they returned to Fort Ruddler.  
  
The squirrel walked silently around the clearing, looking for signs that somebeast had wandered into the woods without the rest of the group. Her searching gaze fell upon a patch of upturned leaves, glossy in contrast with the dull, weather-beaten leaves elsewhere. Riala crouched by the sign of a dibbun's careless passage, noting downy otterbabe fur shed on grasping brambles. This was the trail the dibbun took, all right...  
  
She followed the trail's winding course through the woods, each upturned leaf and broken twig and scuffed earth shouting to anybeast who knew how to listen that somebeast had passed this way. The trail abruptly turned and widened- another creature or two, equally clumsy in woodlore, had joined Jadestream here. They were both dibbuns, as well, or at least very short- there was no sign of disturbance to the brush above Riala's waist. This trail was fairly fresh, too- the wind carried the unmistakeable, rank scent of ferret to the squirrel's nose. She froze, instantly alert. Although there were ferrets in Fort Ruddler, all the dibbuns that had disappeared were typical goodbeast species - a hedgehog, a hare, and an otter.  
  
That meant this ferret was most likely vermin.  
  
Riala quickened her pace, still cautious and carefully following the trail, but hurrying now. Every second was valuable in a situation like this. The sound of voices led the squirrel onward, and she took to the treetops for better speed and camoflague.  
  
A scream, shrill and frightened- a dibbun's scream! - rent the air. Cursing under her breath, the squirrel picked up her pace, a red-gold blur in the leafless treetops. She halted behind the branches of a dense fir, peering through the dark green needles at the strange scene below.  
  
There were the missing dibbuns, playing happily with a weasel, a ferret, and a fox kit. The otterbabe Jadestream rubbed her throat and looked at the foxbabe with her head tilted questioningly.  
  
"Wazzat good, Whiteclaw?" she asked in her piping voice.  
  
The fox filcked his red brush with a grin. "Yupyup! Now Stoneyquill try t'save ya!"  
  
The gray-black-white hedgehog brandished a long willow stick that flopped about comically. "Leggo Jadeystreamer or I stick'n yon ferret wif m'verminpoker!"  
  
"Arr, notta if'n I c'n stop ya!" the weasel cub growled.  
  
The light brown leveret beside Stonequill looked at them both, then burst out laughing. "Wheeheehee! Lookit Stoney's swordthing! Hahahee!"  
  
The hogbabe was struggling with his springy branch. It kept flopping from side to side uncontrollably, hitting everybeast and everything but the weasel and ferret. Soon all the dibbuns were laughing with wild, carefree abandon. It was nearly a minute before their convulsive hilarity subsided, leaving all the children collapsed grinning on the ground.  
  
"Thissiz much better'n th' fort-thing!" the otterbabe exclaimed. "No sleepin' times, no big-beasts sayin 'do dis' or 'do dat' or makin' littluns take barfs!"  
  
"Nobeast yellin' or sayin' 'go away'!" the ferretbabe agreed. "I like dis!"  
  
Riala's gold-brown eyes darted to the nearby brush at the slight rustling of dry, fallen leaves. Tufted ears pricked as she waited, motionless, for the creature to move nito view. SIlently, cautiously, she worked her dagger out of its place in her belt, ready to fight if need be...  
  
A lithe, dark-colored ferret stepped out of the brush, black disapproval on her scarred face. "Whiteclaw! Ketrin! Ragha! C'mere NOW!"  
  
Ferret, weasel, and fox cringed, faces crestfallen and cornered. They dragged their footpaws as they made their way slowly to the ferret. The watching squirrel took this time to act. She scrambled to the ground and bounded to the Fort Ruddler dibbuns with all the speed and agility of her species. Gold-brown squirrel eyes met flat, red-black ferret ones, the air in the clearing virtually crackling with the tension between them.  
  
There was little to be said in a situation like that one. The dark-furred ferret grasped the arms of weaselbabe and fox kit firmly, barking a sharp command to the ferretbabe. Riala turned silently away and herded the three Fort Ruddler dibbuns in the opposite direction, somehow sad at the irreversible ending of the little ones' unprejudiced play. 


	2. Fort Ruddler - Rambling Tavern

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a two-part thread beginning in the Rambling Tavern and ending at the Harbor. I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. The parts of Mackbry, Bailey, and Teltoli were written by their respective players._

* * *

**Fort Ruddler - Rambling Tavern**

In the shadows of the barroom, unnoticed by most of the customers, sits a reddish-brown warrior squirrel. As the fire flares, rising momentarily to almost twice its height with the addition of new fuel, its flickering light illuminates the squirrel briefly - wiry, fit, with the scars of many past battles marring her otherwise well-groomed fur. She is wearing a strangely mottled brown and forest-green tunic, and in the rope belt that secures the tunic about her waist is a curious hardwood stick with a cord attached to it. Next to the stick is a plain, well-used dagger. Yet what catches the eye is the squirrel's tail, colored a rust-gold from birth.  
  
She sips her cider slowly, with long breaks in between each small sip, not wanting to impair her ability to function. She watches the other customers with narrowed gold-brown eyes that miss nothing. It was something she did wherever she went, no matter the place's reputation - find a well-frequented place and sit in the background, observing. It was no different in this fort. The squirrel continued to watch, forming her own opinions about Fort Ruddler and the warrior-beasts that inhabited it...

An older gray hare sits back in his chair, a few tables away. He wears a faded blue, almost gray, cloak under which is a dark green tunic. A sheathed dirk and dagger show every now and again under the cloak as it flaps about. He sets his blue beret on the table, adjusting the small crystal-like spectacles perched low on his nose and rubbing irritably at a very noticeable scar running from his left temple to his chin. He chuckles merrily with a female otter sitting across from him and seems not to notice the new-comer. More fuel in finally added to the dying fire, eliminating the squirrel for a few brief seconds. The hare watches her from the corner of his eye, convinced by the squirrel's actions that one would not want to be on her bad side. His eyes grow dark and curious as he nods in her direction, indicating his otter friend take a look as well.

The flicker of movement as Mackbry nods her way catches the squirrel's gaze, and she looks over at him sharply for a split second, almost unnoticeable unless he were watching her closely. Slowly she brings her cider up to her mouth and takes another sip of the golden drink, watching the hare from her peripheral vision, not seeming to have noticed that he was watching her watch him. Let _ him_ make the first move.   
  
A slight, somewhat sad smile touches the squirrel's lips for a brief instant as she remembers other hares she'd known in her early wandering seasons. Amusing, friendly, hard to dislike; deadly warriors with an intense fighting spirit - that's how the squirrel remembers hares. Perhaps it would be good if one of the first creatures she talks to in Fort Ruddler is a hare.

The hare settles his beret firmly on his head, tipping it to the otter before standing up from his chair. Being a hare, his curiosity had naturally gotten the better of him as he slowly made his way over to the squirrel's table. Grinning sheepishly, he pulled out a chair but remained standing. "'Allo miss, can't say I seen y'round 'ere afore, g'day. Wish fer some company?"

The squirrel sets her cider down on the worn and water-stained tabletop, not a drop spilling from the still nearly-full mug. She takes in details missed from her earlier scrutiny now, and after a moment of silence nods very slightly. "I wouldn't object to some," she replies, and motions with one scarred paw for him to sit. There is the very slightest trace of a northern accent in her voice, almost unnoticeable, but it shows in the lilting cadence of her words and a vaguely different way of phrasing things. Her voice is low and a little rough, though not unpleasant. Tufted ears flick to the side as someone drops a plate in the kitchen, sending the sound of shattering glass throughout the room, and then return to their normal forward position. "What are you called?"

The hare takes a seat, winking and tossing his beret on the table. He takes off his spectacles, wiping the sweat from his eyes due to the hotness of the tavern. Replacing the spectacles, he launches into a short speech as hares have a tendency to do. "Name's Mackbry Taffellappen, call me Mack though, dreadfully long name doncha think! Le'tenant Major 'ere at the fort, right nice place it is. Been 'ere about three weeks now, made m'self jolly well comfortable wot! Not much o' a history by chance though, grew up in ould west Mossflower an' lost me Mum an' Pater te a winter storm quite some time back. Been travelin' ever since, course that is till I came 'ere doncha know! An' who be yer good self?" Mack sits back, crossed his legs as he was fully intent on making his old limbs as comfy as possible. Seeming not to skip a beat he quickly relieves a passing bartender of a beaker of ale, taking a long draught from it.

Knowing that the old hare wont even stop for names, his otter companion comes up behind him and clamps a paw over his mouth. "Now, now, Mack, le' the poor miss getah word 'n edge wise, eh?" She nods to the squirrel. "Bailey Warcraft at yer service, marm."

Mack's rush of words and Bailey's introduction startles a laugh out of the seemingly impassive squirrel. It's a somewhat dry laugh, to be sure, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "I'm no 'marm,'" she says to Bailey with a wry twist to her mouth that might be called a grin. "An' I'm assuming you've been here longer than I, so you'd outrank me, wouldn't you?" Her silent assessment of the otter before she continues takes a bit more time than that of Mackbry, simply because she'd already been watching the hare before he'd come to the shadowed corner table. At last she smiles a bit crookedly, as if she were out of practice. "I'm Riala Goldentail," the squirrel introduces herself simply. "Glad to meet th' both of you."

Mack struggles from Bai's grip indignantly. "I woulda stopped talkin'...eventually." The hare shakes his finger at Riala in a comically stern way, adopting a deep voice like that of a grandhare chastising a leveret. "Come now missie, let 'ave a rel smile out o' ye." His face turns somewhat serious. "Y'may be one o' those 'ardened type, eh wot? But the fact is, whilst ye be at ould Fort Ruddler, ye can safetly walk 'round wit' a smile on yer face an' not be glared at wot wot!"

Riala shrugs wiry shoulders at Mack's words. "You can't force a smile, hare," she says quietly, taking another small sip of her cider. Gold-brown eyes flick upward to Mackbry's face, then to Bailey's. "So what's this place like?" the squirrel asks, changing the subject. "I've heard a lot about it, but nothing from someone who's lived here..."

"Ah well, s'pose tis good logic," the hare amends. "Now, Fort Ruddler, eh wot? Lets see, twas built te be the bally 'ome o' the Northland warriors by a grand ould otter named Thrugg, I do believe. This Thrugg fellow an' the orginal cap'ns, Ariel obviously, Sunswirl, Sandfur I think, well, a right good ould bunch any'ow, orginally came from Camp Willow. I certainly ain't the type te spend me time wit' me bally nose buried in books wot! Many a Northland warriors live 'ere, an' many a Northland travelers pass by quite often. Five platoons, Moonsword, Lighthunter, Giftblade, Jadewarrior, an' Bravepaw. I be in Bravepaw. Then there be the bally fleet, five ships, the Wildshadow, the Darkwind, the Northern Flyer, the Wavearrow, an' the Starchaser. At the bally momento though, the 'Shadow, Darkwind, an' Wavearrow be leavin', trouble at ould Redwall abbey I 'ear. Ever been te Redwall?" He sips from his beaker of ale, savoring the warm taste and warm atmosphere of the tavern. With a sigh, he empties the beaker, setting it, empty, onto the table.

Bailey glares at the hare. "Mack, the poor miss cn't un'astand a wor' ye be sayin'! So shush up!" The otter turns to the squirrel and looks her up and down. "Aye, he's right... mostly. These doawn be the 'rist ships, though they be soon from it. Win'Shadown, No'hernFlyer an' th' Sta'chaser be thee first uns, thin a fe' more. Me mum was a captain, sometime back..." She looks down, for a moment. "Aye, twas beast fro' Camp Willo' who buil' this 'ere place. Tis a g'and one, 't that." She smiles, remembering the tales her mother told, the stories of task forces, songs, feasts, and seasons gone bye. Of the beasts of here, and the beasts of Camp Willow. Her inky eyes trail to the wall, at the bottom and she stares, her eyes glazed with the far away gaze that only beasts thinking of those gone bye can have.

The squirrel listens intently to both Bailey and Mack's explanations. After the hare's somewhat long-winded version, the sudden switch from narrative to question startles her, and it takes a moment to collect her thoughts. "Aye, I've visited Redwall many a time," she says quietly, a fleeting smile touching her face for a brief instant at the fond memories. "I was a part of a band of warriors down Mossflower way - disbanded now, unfortunately - and I stayed at the abbey on several occasions... Never stayed for long, though." Riala shrugs as if the physical movement would clear her head of long-ago memories. "What about you, Mackbry? Bailey? Ever been to Redwall?"

Mack's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles of long ago memories. He took another sip of ale to wet his lips before begining yet another speech, as hares often do. "Ahh yes, ould Redwall, eh wot? Well, like I said, didna travel much when I was young, only 'eard of the place. After about two months after I 'ad left me burrow I stumbled up to their front doors. Poored me 'eart out te the Abbott there, said 'e understood, 'ad many a creatures weepin' on 'is shoulder fer the same reason. Any'ow, lived there fer about a season afore continuin' onward. What wit' the kind 'elp of the Abbott, I soon felt better. I stopped by every now an' again, never stayin' any longer than a few days, but tis quite nice. I'd live there solely fer the bally tucker if me spirit would allow. Alas though, warrior I was an' warrior I stayed, right nice place, but a bit too bally peaceful fer me likin'."  
  
He sighed, actually seeming rather winded for once as he waved his paw at Bai. "Well, what about yerself Bai, ever been te ould Redwall Abbey?"

"Naw, h'I've neva been ta th' h'Abbey o' Redwall... Bin ta Camp Willo', and Sal'mand'tron 'n' a few nother places, bu' Sal'mand'tron be as far 'outh as I bin." She looks down, remembering the beasts of place past. She remembers her aunts, uncle, mother, her father whom she hadn't seen in seasons, her sisters and brother, her mothers band of warriors, the beasts of the long gone holt she still lived in... She sighs and looks up. "Nay, h'I've neva bin thir."

Riala's tufted ears prick as Bailey mentions the fire mountain. "Salamandastron?" the squirrel echoes, gold-brown eyes alight with interest. "I've been there before... Who was the Badger Lord while you were there?" Her gaze unfocuses a little as memories flash across her mind's eye of her short time in the mountain of the fire lizards.

Bailey shakes her head. "H'I..." she stops, not knowing if she should continue, but she does. "I don't remember. I haven't been there since I was a babe... The... the one that I remember was a badger maid named Myra... but she... she was killed in an attack by the beasts that killed my mum's first love... Seasons later, of course..." She looks down. "I don't remember much but that."

The squirrel listens in silence to Bailey's story, taking another slow sip of her cider. "You were there before I came, then," she says quietly. "I visited during the reign of a Badger Lord named Firesight... He died in battle the day after I entered Salamandastron." A shadow falls across Riala's face, and her gold-brown eyes hold an unreadable darkness in their depths. 

"Aye, well, never been there m'self," Mackbry interjects. Bit of a bally shame doncha think? What with me bein' a hare an' all, an' that 'tis th' strong'old o' hares is it not? Ach, oh well, s'pose t'will 'ave te live with it. Besides, love it 'ere any'ow." He winks at Riala, wiping foam from his upper lip. "I'm sure ye'll love it too!"

Riala shakes her head, sloughing off the dark mood sparked by old memories, and turns to Mackbry. "Perhaps you're right," the golden-tailed squirrel agrees, setting down her cider. "It seems to be a nice place..." Silence falls over the shadowed corner table as there's a lull in the conversation, and Riala's mind grasps ahold of what Mack had said earlier. "What was that you were saying about trouble in Redwall?" she asks, curious.

Once asked of the situation at Redwall, the normally jovial old hare stays silent for a few seconds, the twinkle disappearing from his eyes. Finally he sits forward, placing his elbows on the table and speaking in a low voice as his face took on a troubled look. "Well, far as I can tell, some fox be attackin' ould Redwall wit' 'is 'orde. I'm sure we all know the stories o' Redwall's past days when they been attacked, tis impossible te scale their walls. But now Fort Ruddler tis goin' te 'elp the abbey, only problem is, our beasts won't 'ave a wall te protect 'em until they're in Redwall. An' te top it off..." Mack's voice drops to a saddened whisper. "Tis been bad feelin' about the whole trip. Ariel an' Sandfur...well...I 'ear they been real quiet. Talkin' about _'opefully_ comin' back the spring, as if they might not." The older hare let out a distressed sigh and sat back, setting his beret on the table and wiping sweat from his forehead. "But tis jest me own speculations, not rumors."

"Ye doan' know th'm. They'll figh' ta death fer Re'wall... An' the' woan' care a bit 'bout th'm selves..." Bailey looked down, her eyes saddened beyond belief. Her mother was would go off, as soon as Andy and Ann were older, and hunt down Darkhart, the killer of her holt, one she had been hunting for years. Her Da had already avenged his family and childhood, but it had nearly killed him. And they both fought numerous times for others, because of what they believed. "Ye doan' know these beasts... They'll figh' fer eva... fer th'goo' o' som'one else..." Her voice was quiet, and saddened.

The squirrel's eyes turn flat and dark with the mention of war and of beasts not returning. She stares down into the golden depths of her cider, face expressionless. When she speaks, her voice is flat and absent of emotion. "There'll be some that won't return, t'be sure," Riala says quietly. "And some that won't be the same... Nobeast's ever unchanged by war. An' no army ever goes through it without losing somebeasts." Her gold-brown gaze rises from the cider to Bailey, something akin to sympathy flickering for a brief moment over her face, almost unnoticeable. "Nay, I don't know _these_ beasts," she agrees, "but I've met so many warriorbeasts of their ilk that I understand what you're saying, Bailey..." Her voice softens just a bit. "D'you know anyone going to help the Abbey?"

"Aye..." She nods slowly. "I do." She doesn't speak for a moment, then looks up at the squirrel. "Aria... er, Ariel, she... She be me Aunt... sorta... And Sunny.. er.. Summer Snow..." She sighed. "An' Sandfur... He be 'friend from when h'I was yet a babe..." She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. "h'I'm sure me brother be thir.. we're eva he m' be afore. He'll a'go to 'he def'nce o' good beasts." The young otter looked sad. She was inexperienced in the arts of war, having only been around beasts who had fought in them, though even that was limited. She had seen what war had done to her mother, her sister, her aunts and uncle... She'd seen what it could do to families and friend... and she hated it.

Mack looks up at Bailey, a startled look dominating his sharp features. "Well 'ave ye not 'eard Bai m'gel? Ariel an' Sunswirl be stayin' behind. Sandfur be leadin' the three ships, wit' 'Nara an' some temperamental wolverine they calls Rysma Wildshadow. Apparently Ariel knows 'er from a ways back."

Riala glances sharply at Mack, eyes narrowing dangerously. "There's a wolverine here?" she asks in a low voice tight with anger. "This place actually accepted a wolverine into its ranks??" Almost of itself, her paw had gone to the throwing club tucked into her belt and was gripping it tightly in scarcely repressed hatred.

Mack stares at Riala, surprise and shock written clearly on his face. "Aye, a large female. Not really part of the Fort, not on the roster. She's Captainin' the 'Shadow on the trip te ould Redwall. Some odd relation wit' Ariel from far back a'ways. Rysma Wildshadow they calls 'er, like I said, wasn't named after the Wildshadow though. What's the matter Riala m'gel, some bad run-in wit' a wolverine of sorts sometime?"

"Doan' know 'er me self... Bu' ai't wol'erines supoabl' unloy'l?" Bailey looks back at Riala, her head cocked. Something has happened to her in the past, with wolverines...

She laughs harshly at Mack's question, her eyes shadowed and holding a smoldering fury within their gold-brown depths. "Aye," the squirrel rasps, her voice tight with remembered anger, "a bad run-in. Ye could call it that, I ken." Her northern brogue, normally too faint to detect, becomes somewhat more strong with the rise of her emotions. "T'was a wolverine what kilt most of m'tribe an' took th' rest as slaves, afore I was born. Mae father, Rilar Battlecry by name, escaped. He was th'only one tae do so. Then when I was still a dibbun, th' hells-curs'd wolv'rine named Nightdeath Longclaws murdered m'father. Challenged 'im tae a duel, an' had 'is yewbeasts shoot mae father when he was winnin'. T'was then that I became a fighter." 

She stares into her cider, caught by the sorrow-wrought web of terrible memories. After a short silence, she continued. "That band o' bonny warriors I tol' ye aboot? T'was a wolverine that kilt one o' m'good friends, though 'e got 'erself kill'd too, in th' slayin'. An' that's why I agin took up my chase o' th' wolverine what kill'd m'father." Riala's intense gold-brown gaze rose from her mug to Mack, and her accent vanishes as her voice becomes chillingly emotionless and cold. "I killed Nightdeath Longclaws a season later. These scars are what I have to show for it." She doesn't move, but attention is automatically drawn to the many fearsome old scars webbing her entire body, marring otherwise well-kempt fur.  
  
The squirrel's eyes shift to Bailey. "I don't know about wolverine disloyalty," she says flatly, voice harsh. "But I do know of wolverine treachery. There isn't a wolverine alive that could ever be trusted, and anyone who would trust a wolverine enough to put one in charge of a ship is a fool."

"Now now Riala m'gel, Ariel ain't no fool. Quite smart she is, been 'ere ever since Fort Ruddler was first built. She may know this Rysma better then yerself does." Mack's brow furrowed in concern, his old age suddenly seeming quite evident. He wrapped his paws around Riala's, looking the full part of a wise old Grandfather. "Riala m'gel, no beast, leastwise one of yer age, should 'ave te experience that. But from the moment ye decided te make yer life a livin' 'ell of misery over yer father's death, yew let that wolverine win. Tis vermin like 'im who are in this world only te make the lives of goodbeasts like ourselves miserable. The Longclaws may be dead, but his cursed spirit will forever triumpth over ye an' yer misery. No beast should live in the past, as many decide t'do. Wit' yer father's death avenged, there's no reason ye couldn't live the rest of yer life happy. Why weep over the death of your father, when he would want yew t'be comforted by 'is memories?"  
  
He sits back, feeling seasons older. His paw strays deep into his cloak, feeling about for a few seconds before finally pulling forth a tiny charm. A loop, of which could be easily attacked to one's belt, led down a short length of miniature chain to the charm itself. It was small, designed to be carried without much notice. It portrayed four paws, that of a hare, frozen in the position of a full out gallop, tiny curves and intrictly carved lines showing the dust being kicked up. "When I found me Mum an' pater frozen quite awhile back, I took this from me pater's belt. Afore 'e met me Mum, 'e ran wit' a small group of various creatures that were from a small fort. Me Grandsire an' 'is Grandsires all came from the same fort. Whenever I look at this charm, I do not grow sad, but instead happy as I remember the memories I _did_ 'ave wit' 'im an' me Mum. That's what yew need t'do. For as a great badger o' Redwall once said, 'Though our loved ones have departed, their memories will remain ferever te comfort us.'"

Riala leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, smiling thinly, bitterly. When she finally speaks, it's in a soft, almost sing-song tone that's chilling to the soul, and more disturbing for the complete lack of expression on the squirrel's scarred features. "You make it sound so easy, hare. I don't know how strong your relationship was to your parents, but... I never knew a mother. She died when I was but a babe, and so my father was all the family I had. We lived in far northern Mossflower- there are few creatures there, and there were no goodbeasts even near my age in our area of the woods. The only creature I could grow close to was my father. He was my father, mother, teacher, and friend. I was still a child when the Longclaws killed him."  
  
Her eyes remain closed and her face expressionless as she continues. "Have you ever felt grief so deep that you can't think, can't act, can't move? Ever been touched by fury so intense that it overrides all reason and all other emotions, leaving you dry of any tears? And then that fury settles to cold hatred, smoldering hatred, hatred so deep that nothing in the world can make it go away, and the only thing you can do is obey it because if you don't you'll go insane... So you spend seasons of your life trying to satisfy that hatred. It consumes you, becomes your entire purpose in life, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Then you finally kill the creature you hate most, and then what do you do? What is there left to do? You've no purpose. Your life was only hatred and now there's nothing to hate... So what's life without a purpose?"  
  
She laughs, a harsh sound that grates on the soul like rough sandpaper. "You want me smile, hare? You think it's so easy to stop hating? When all you've ever done is hate and kill, kill and hate, when it's all you are... Emotion's the first thing to die in a life like that. You forget how to laugh, you forget how to cry, you forget everything but anger and hatred." Gold-brown eyes open finally, and even more chilling than Riala's sing-song voice is the deadness of her eyes, the windows to the soul. "No reason I couldn't live the rest of my life happy, hare? That's what the mind says... The heart tells a different story."

With those final, quiet words, the squirrel stands and walks out of the bar room on silent, scarred paws.

Mack let a long sigh of weariness escape him as he picked his beret up from the table, settling it on his head. He closed his eyes, rubbing them under his spectacles. "Tis poor beasts like that 'un whose lives be ruined fer good." He suddenly opened his eyes, slamming his paw onto the table in frustration. "Tis the unrelentin' tyranny of vermin! I'm seen too many goodbeasts, _young_ beasts, 'ave their lives ruined by the forces of evil residin' in this world!"  
  
The old hare's eyes sparkled sadly as tears waited to be released. "I think I shall retire fer the night as well Bailey lass, that 'un 'as worn me out." With his shoulders slumped dejectedly forward and his head bowed, Mack exited the quietly tavern. Once outside he stopped though. He leaned against the weather-worn planking covering the tavern as a wave of emotions finally swept over him, bringing tears to his eyes.

* * *

**Fort Ruddler - Harborside**

From the direction of the tavern strides a wiry squirrel with red-brown fur and a rust-gold tail, both lacerated with old scars. She wears a forest-green tunic mottled with earth-brown, the waist secured by a rope belt. Tucked inside that belt is a plain-handled dagger, well-used and well-made, as well as a short, slightly curved, thick hardwood stick with a long cord attached to it and coiled in the squirrel's belt.  
  
Her gold-brown eyes are shadowed with the darkness of old memories, and she pauses at the water's edge, facing an old, brittle, stunted tree near the beach. Silently, without warning, she whips out her dagger and throws it. Before it thunks into the center of the aged, wind-scarred trunk, her throwing club is out and thrown as well. It tumbles end over end, hitting the tree mere moments after the dagger, the staccato _thunks_ sounding close together. A tug of the long cord sends the stick flying back the squirrel's direction, and she catches it with the practice of long ease.  
  
Those shadows still in her eyes, she moves in a blur of motion, the stick acting as an extension of her own arms. Whirling and twisting with blinding speed, she battles with her shadow, sometimes letting some cord out to lengthen her reach, sometimes whirling in a tight spin that sends the weapon flying from centrifugal force in a deadly circle around her. With a final flip, she reaches the tree and catches her whirling stick at the same time she wrenches her dagger loose from the trunk.  
  
The squirrel replaces both weapons in her belt, breathing hard from her long, energetic practice, the shadows finally fleeing from the catharsis of physical activity - for a time...

A hare watches the squirrel practice from a distance. He is an old campaigner and can tell right away that the squirrel is a seasoned fighter by the way she handles her weapons. He sighs quietly to himself thinking about the days when he was in hard training. Though still skilled in the use of his dirk and a curious double bladed staff, it has been too long for his liking since Tel has seen action on the battle front. He strides up to the squirrel as she finishes her practice, the deep sand coming above his ankles.  
  
"I say, jolly interesting weapon yew flourish there marm." He glances at the newly carved knocks in the tree trunk. "Mighty effective eh wot?" He grins meekly, seeing the shadowy appearance of her eyes. Having worked with many seasoned fighters in the past Tel knows the look well. "The name's Teltoli Rifflapin Riverbuck, but that's a bally mouthful so most call me Tel." He holds out a paw for shaking

The squirrel turns in mild surprise as she hears the unmistakable sound of paws treading beach sand. Her mouth twists into a wry grin as she notes Teltoli's species. "I seem to be plagued by hares today," she says, taking the hare's proffered paw with her own scarred, calloused one in a firm grip and shaking it once, then releasing it. "I'm Riala Goldentail," she introduced herself. Remembering his comment on her throwing club, she smiles thinly, touching one paw to the stick. "I call it a roce," Riala explains. "It works well enough for my needs, at any rate..."

Tel grins at the squirrel as she shakes his paw, listening to her hare plight. "Ah, I know wot yah mean, been a bit plagued by the bally rotters meself!" He chuckles dryly and pulls a canteen from his hip pouch. Taking a swig he offers it to her. "Yah look like you've been working hard marm, would yah care fer a drip o me special apple flower and barley water? Most refreshin' if I do say so meself, wot wot!"

The squirrel studies the hare with gold-brown eyes, then shrugs and accepts the canteen. In the mood she's in, she doesn't really care if he's trustworthy or not... but she's never met a hare who wasn't. After a quick drink from the flavored water, she hands it back with a grateful nod. "Thanks," she says, "and I think I'll have to agree - that _is_ fairly refreshing." Riala starts off down the beach at a walk to cool herself down and keep her muscles from cramping, letting Teltoli decide if he wants to come along or not. "Been at this place long?" she asks the hare over her shoulder as she strides easily across the shifting sands.

Tel takes back the canteen once Riala has had a drink. He notices the squirrel take off at a walk and bounds up beside her. "I say, jolly good idea wot! nothing like a stroll on the bally ol' sand t'stretch the ol' legs wot wot!" Tel takes in a deep noisy breath of salt sea air, tilting his nose skyward. A soft cool wind blowing in off the ocean playing about his ears. He smiles as Riala asks about his stay at Fort Ruddler. "Nah, been a jolly ol' campaigner all me life but m'stay 'ere at Ruddler's jest begun. I came in off the trails only a couple weeks ago eh wot! Saw the bally place and knew it was me new home jest like that!" He snaps his fingers while twiddling his ears. "Kin yah believe they call an old blighter like me a new recruit, phaw!"  
  
He turns to look at Riala, noticing that something seems to be troubling her. Although he does not know her Tel feels a bit of concern for the squirrel. "An' how bout yah Riala? How did yer travels land yah here at Ruddler?" He picks up a bit of driftwood from the sands while talking, running it through his paws absentmindedly.

Riala shrugs slightly. "I've always been a wanderer," she says enigmatically. "The longest I ever stayed in one place was two seasons, with a band of warriors in Mossflower, and even then I wandered some within the area. I've no idea how long I'll stay here - I joined the fort less week ago..." She smiles thinly, gold-brown eyes holding a sort of wry amusement in their shadowed depths. "You're the third beast I've actually talked to so far - th'others were Mackbry Taffellappen and Bailey Warcraft. Do you know them?"

Tel continues to fiddle with the piece of driftwood while talking. "I should say I know Mackbry wot. First bally beast I met 'pon my arrival here eh wot! Spiffen hare he is, been sparring with his as of late. Bailey I've heard of but nevah talked tah as of yet."  
  
The hare looks over at the squirrel as he pulls he dirk from his belt and begins to whittle at the piece of wood. "A wanderer eh? Known a few like yah in me days, but nevah really understood you lot. I used tah wanderer a fair amount, found it lonely though. Decided I did better settled in one spot. Where did yah come form afore yah came teh Ruddler?"

The squirrel decides she's cooled down well enough and halts near the docks, sitting down on a weather-worn plank. "I wandered because there was never really a place I was interested in staying in. And there were also ... other reasons." That shadow of old memories flickers in the depths of her golden-brown eyes again, but she forces it away. Telling the whole of her story once in a night is enough.  
  
Riala's gaze flicks over to Teltoli as he asks where she was from, and as she speaks, her attention wanders out to sea. "I'm from north of here, near the northern mountains... Fort Ruddler isn't far south of where I was born, actually." Now that her origins are known, it's possible to detect a very slight, almost imperceptible lilting northern accent hidden in the squirrel's quiet voice. "I wandered down to Mossflower, near Redwall area. Stayed there for a while, made my way to Southsward region, returned north, and eventually found my way here."   
  
She shrugs, dismissing her past and the vague summary she'd given of it. "You in the Infantry or the Fleet?" she asks, switching the conversation over to a new topic.

Tel can tell that Riala does not like talking about her past and helps change the topic quickly. "I'm in tha jolly ol' infantry! Jadewarrior division teh be exact wot. Which are yah in Riala?" The hare continues to whittle at the driftwood, waiting for a response.

Riala blinks in surprise at Teltoli's answer. "I'm in the same division, actually," she says with some amusement coloring her tone. "Though I haven't been to any gathering of the platoon yet, which is probably why I don't recognize you from the division."

She glances to the horizon, at the sinking sun whose rays are tingeing the clouded sky a brilliant gold. "Ah, well, I think it's time I go to bed. Early to bed, early to rise, and all that..." The squirrel's been picking up on Tel's offhand-ish manner of speech from talking to him- it's sometimes hard, when talking to someone with a strong accent, not to pick up on their way of talking. "I'll see you sometime soon, I've no doubt, as we're in the same division. Good to meet you before, though. Later, then..." With a nod of farewell, Riala Goldentail heads towards the barracks, scarred footpaws crunching across the shifting sand.

Tel grins as he finds out Riala is in his division. "Well that's jolly well top hole news wot wot! We'll be seein' more o each other enough I guess."  
  
He nods to Riala as she rises. "Tis be a pleasure chattin with yah Riala. Have a pleasant evetide marm." Tel sits, watching the sun set. He looks down as he finishes whittling the drift wood. In is paws rests a small bird. Tel sighs deeply, enjoying the cooling breeze.


	3. Thief!

Thief!  
  
Fort Ruddler Mission  
  
It was a cold, snowy day in Fort Ruddler when Riala Goldentail received her orders. The red-brown squirrel had been standing on the wall top, exposed to the chill wind and yet taking little note of it. She'd been raised in a climate just as harsh, and had been volunteering for sentry duty for some time now. It wasn't as if there was much else to do… When not on missions, a battle, or training, there was little else Fort Ruddler soldiers did but chat or feast.  
  
Riala never was much of a talker.  
  
The whisper of paws on stone caused the squirrel to turn quickly, and her rust-gold tail flicked sideways in mild surprise at the sight of a young hair in a light-blue, white-trimmed tunic. Her shift wasn't finished yet, though she didn't think this hare was up here to take sentry duty.  
  
"Drill Sergeant Sandfur Dunerunner," Riala acknowledged, coming to attention and saluting.  
  
Amusement tugged at the corners of the drill sergeant's mouth, and he returned the salute. "Lieutenant Major Riala Goldentail," he returned. "At ease. Sentry duty again?"  
  
Surprise flickered in Riala's gold-brown eyes as she relaxed her formal posture. Now this was interesting… *First he comes to the wall top instead of sending a messenger to bring me to his office or to bring me a message, and now it appears there's some sort of dossier on me. Hm…*  
  
"Yessir," the squirrel said, finally answering the half-question, half-statement.  
  
"I see…" Sandfur walked to the parapet and looked out over the frigid land surrounding Fort Ruddler. "You've been volunteering for sentry duty a lot. What for? It's generally viewed as a tedious job."  
  
Riala was silent for a moment as she thought about it. She shrugged wiry shoulders, thinking she might as well be honest. "There's little else to do, sir," she answered, "and at least I'm making use of myself between missions and training rather than lazing about."  
  
The hare's back was turned to her, so she couldn't' see his expression, but his voice gained a slight edge when he spoke again. "Somebeasts call that 'lazing about' socializing, Lieutenant Major," he said quietly. "Any idea why we give Infantry and Fleet so much free time? No?" He didn't wait for an answer, but plowed on in fine hare fashion. "It's because creatures who know each other fight better as a unit than those that are complete strangers. I've seen you when we drill. You're a good fighter, but you focus completely on your own battle and forget entirely about your allies. That could get somebeast killed. You, or somebeast alongside you who depends on you to guard their back. You need to learn to fight with otherbeasts, and so this mission I'm sending you out with Colonel Mackbry Taffellappen."  
  
Riala whirled, a protest springing immediately into the frosty winter air. "What?" she yelped. "On a mission?"  
  
"He's a good soldier, and he's successfully completed several missions as of yet. He's also worked with otherbeasts many times to complete those missions."  
  
"I work best alone," the squirrel insisted. "Having another creature along will be distracting. He might even jeopardize the-"  
  
"Lieutenant Major!" Sandfur's voice cracked like a whip. "This is part of your mission! I expect you to work together to complete it. The colonel has many talents and should prove an asset."  
  
Riala's expression was stormy, and she was seething inwardly, but she remembered protocol nonetheless. "Yes, sir," she grated out.  
  
The drill sergeant turned to face her, his expression softening slightly. "I know you were a wanderer before you came here, and so you're a loner. But you've joined our ranks. That makes you part of an army- part of a unit. You're no longer a single warrior. You're part of a larger body. A paw can't work cut off from the arm, and neither can a single soldier defeat a horde without an army. You have to learn to work with otherbeasts to accomplish your goals."  
  
The hare pulled out a scroll and looked at Riala's still stubborn face. He smiled sadly and shook his head. "If you still want to work alone, then you may do better as a wanderer again. But if you change your mind, and want to be a soldier still…"  
  
Riala looked away, and the rustling of paper reached her keen tufted ears. Pawsteps followed, fading into the howling wind. Finally the squirrel turned, her face dead of expression, shadowed gold-brown eyes fixed on the mission scroll on the stones. Her forest-shaded tunic rustled as one scarred, red-brown paw reached down and closed around the parchment.  
  
* * *  
  
She found Colonel Mackbry Taffellappen in the common room, sitting before a blazing fire. The squirrel's paws made little noise on the swept stone floor, but the long ears of hares were useful for more than conveying emotion. The graying colonel's left ear twitched as she entered the room, but he didn't turn from the warmth of the fire. "'Allo," he said, a casual greeting.  
  
"Hello yourself, Mackbry," Riala returned dryly. *Why did I get paired with him?* She'd been foolish, that night in the tavern. Perhaps the mulled cider she'd been slowly, cautiously sipping had affected her slightly, loosened her tongue enough to tell the story of her dark past to two complete strangers. It was only that the mention of a wolverine had…  
  
Something in her tone must have caught the older hare's attention, for he turned abruptly, gaze fixed on her. From the slight change in his expression as his eyes probed hers, she supposed the shadows of her past were darkening her gold-brown gaze yet again. "Wot is it, Riala?" he asked.  
  
"I don't suppose you feel like going on a mission?" the squirrel said, answering his question with a partial one of her own.  
  
Interest sparked in Mackbry's gaze. "A mission, y'say? On wot?"  
  
Riala had read the scroll enough times to have it memorized. "Somebeast has been stealing weapons from the armory. We're supposed to find the thief and figure out why he or she's stealing stuff. If he's supplying a vermin army, we have to destroy the army, and we can take as many warriors as we need."  
  
"Jolly intriguin' mission, I say!" Mackbry commented. "Wouldn't mind doin' it, m'self…" He broke off mid-sentence, checking himself as he remembered something. The hare gave Riala an odd, curious look. "Say, doncha normally work solo, m'gel?"  
  
Smoldering irritation flared in Riala's eyes at the question. "I was told to take another creature with me," she said stiffly.  
  
"Ohhh…" The word was long and drawn out, realization and sudden understanding packed into the short word. "Well, sounds jolly good t'me! When d'we start?"  
  
Gold-brown eyes flicked to the window of the common room. The sky was shaded gold with the sun's last rays, and gathering clouds hinted at the promise of a storm. "Now, I'd say," Riala said quietly. "A smart creature would steal before a rainfall, so the wet would cover his tracks."  
  
"Right!" Mackbry rose from his fire-warmed seat, joints crackling. He picked up his long spear and grinned at her. "Lead on, missy!"  
  
* * *  
  
Fort Ruddler's army was stocked mostly with arrows, javelins, and other missile weapons. Nearly everybeast at the fort had their own preferred weapon, such as Mackbry's dirk and spear and Riala's throwing club and dagger. However, most creatures could use a bow, sling, or javelin with some proficiency, and a fort could never have enough ammunition. But it wasn't just arrows that had gone missing. Weapons meant for trainees, some weapons made for new soldiers to have as their personal weapon when they decided which they preferred, and some donated weapons had all been stolen. Three times the thief had struck, and he or she had never been seen.  
  
Riala crouched in the rafters, well hidden in the shadowed corner. Mackbry hid below, concealed beneath a cloth-covered table with a display of blades. Squirrel and hare waited with the trained patience of long experience. Their wait was not for nothing.  
  
It was a flickering in her peripheral vision that caught Riala's eye. She remained absolutely still as a shadow as dark as the ones concealing the squirrel crept across the floor with ghostly silence. With the ease of much practice, the creature collected three quivers full of arrows and several small blades with barely the clink of steel on stone to betray him. Still silent, the shadow flowed back out the door. The well-oiled hinges didn't squeal at all as the door soundlessly closed.  
  
Riala counted slowly to thirty before leaping to the ground. "Mack, come on," she whispered.  
  
Cloth rustled as he pushed aside the table's covering, nose wrinkling, his long gray whiskers bristling in distaste. "I say, wot a rotten smell! Th' thievin' chap smelled worse'n an angry skunk!"  
  
The squirrel sniffed the air, and her paw closed immediately on her short, thick throwing club- her roce. "Ferret," she growled. "I'd know that scent anywhere…" Not waiting for Mackbry's rejoinder, she slipped outside, gold-brown eyes intent on the ground and the light paw prints left in the soft earth.  
  
"Wot I wants t'know," the hare said, catching up to her, "is why we didn't just attack th' rotter while he was still in th' bally armory."  
  
"Captured prisoners can lead you astray," Riala replied in a quiet tone that showed she was only partially concentrating on the conversation. The rest of her attention was on the trail. "Besides, I doubt the higher- ups would want me to use torture to pry answers out the thief… Goodbeasts tend to frown on that sort of thing."  
  
The paw steps beside her fell silent as the colonel stared at her in shock. "Y'd really use torture?"  
  
"You see what I mean?" The squirrel's face may have been carved from stone for all the expression it showed. "I use whatever needs to be done to reach my goal. Even if it means using methods normally frowned upon."  
  
"But… doesn't that make y'as bad as a vermin rotter?"  
  
Her eyes turned flat and cold as she continued following the trail. "Perhaps. But I do not go back on my word. I do not enslave otherbeasts. I do not kill young ones or weaponless creatures. But I don't have mercy on those who do." That chilling gold-brown gaze rose from the tracks on the ground to Mackbry's uncertain face. "Does that make me stronger than the vermin I fight, or just as immoral?"  
  
She stopped, not waiting for an answer as they reached the wall. There was a shallow gap between the bottom of the wall and the ground, though not enough for anybeast to get through. Frowning, the squirrel walked towards the gap. Her paws thudded against hollow earth. She knelt by the ground and brushed away dirt to reveal a wooden plank over a tunnel. "So that's how it was done…"  
  
Riala pushed aside the wood and jumped into the hole with her dagger in one paw. She waited in still silence as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing an empty tunnel. "Mack, it's clear," she called softly to the hare above. Dirt cascaded down as he jumped in after her, coughing as dust clouded his lungs.  
  
"Bally dark in here, wot?" he commented once the coughing fit subsided. Silence was his only answer. "Bloody treejumper," he muttered in feigned irritation, hurrying to catch up with the squirrel.  
  
* * *  
  
The tracks were much more clear outside he fort, and the two creatures made good time. They stayed hidden as they trailed the thief, and from time to time caught a glimpse of a sinuous, shadowy form, and moonlight glinting off a naked blade. The thief made his way into the forest, taking a twisting, turning trail barely noticeable if one wasn't looking very hard.  
  
"I'm going to follow from the treetops," Riala murmured to Mackbry. "You keep tracking. If you don't keep up, though, I'm not waiting for you, so don't fall behind." With those brusque words, the squirrel raced up the nearest tree trunk with the faintest scraping of claws on bark.  
  
She stayed as silent as she could while running from limb to limb, her slight weight causing branches to brush each other with a faint clacking noise. Fortunately the wind was brisk, and covered the sound of her movement. The ferret below never saw his pursuer.  
  
Riala trailed the thief to a dense glade, with vines and tree trunks so close together that it was almost impossible to slip between them. The interwoven formed a veritable cage, but walking on them was as easy as moving across the ground. The squirrel crouched over a gap in the limbs, watching the ferret silently.  
  
She could see the thief was female now that she got a good look. She was completely gray, almost black, the color of shadow. Her form-fitting clothes were the same color, mottled with various shades of gray, and they made no sound as she dumped her stolen goods on the ground and let out a high-pitched, chattering call.  
  
From the brush, from the ground, from within the trees themselves came dark forms the same shade as the thief. They were all ferrets, each as silent and stealthy and fluid of motion as the first. Riala recognized the wiry bodies, flowing grace, and electric readiness of expert warriors. These ferrets were dangerous.  
  
"I have morrre weaponsss," the first hissed, voice rasping and chilling. "Therrre isss not much morrrre of use to usss."  
  
"Fortbeastsss not foolisssh," another rasped. "None sssee you yet?"  
  
"Fourrr timesss I go," the thief replied, "fourrr times no one sssee. I sssilent. I am ssshadow."  
  
"Ssshadows moving are sssuspect. I believe you followed…"  
  
That strange chattering cry rang in Riala's ears, and she whirled about, weapons in paw – but too late. A spear pricked her throat. "Move not," the black-gray ferret hissed.  
  
A scrabbling of paws on the vine-circled tree trunks warned of approaching ferrets. Now Riala realized that the branches had been woven. Not by nature, but by dark paws. Ferret paws. But by the fur, she was not going to be captured by foul-smelling ferrets! Without warning, she fell on her back. The ferret thrust with the spear at her sudden motion, but the point flew over her head, and the ferret lost balance. Riala slashed upwards with her dagger and then ran as she felt blood splash onto her fur.  
  
She took the climbing ferrets by surprise when she raced down through their midst, dagger flashing as it sliced through gray-black fur. But they recovered quickly. Fire flashed through Riala's leg as a dirk sliced deep into muscle. She lost her balance for a split second, and then a cudgel cracked across her chest, knocking the wind out of her and sending her flying off of the trunk.  
  
"Gotcha!"  
  
Her fall was broken by fur, and she was enclosed in a firm grip. Mackbry. The squirrel jumped to the ground and took up two bows and two quivers of arrows, still in the pile the thief had placed them in. She hissed in pain as she put weight on her injured leg, but forced it from her mind.  
  
"D'ye ken how tae shoot?" the squirrel shouted to Mackbry, her normally faint northern accent becoming more marked with the tension.  
  
"Aye, but can y'run on that bally hoof?" the hare returned, scooping up a quiver and accepting the bow she offered. He fired an arrow into the oncoming ferrets, face grim as his target fell back with a yell.  
  
"It be naught," Riala answered. "Run!"  
  
They fled before the rush of shadow-furred ferrets, stopping within bowshot of the glade, sheltered by a single boulder in the midst of the forest. Wincing, the squirrel lowered herself to the ground, leaning over the rock. Her tunic was stained dark with both vermin blood and her own. "Make a fire," she told the hare. "There be tools in mae belt pouch. I shall hold yon ferrets off." She nocked an arrow to the bow's string, sighted along the shaft, and let fly. A scream met her shot. Smiling grimly, she pulled another from the quiver.  
  
"Y'mean t'use fire on 'em!" the colonel exclaimed, shocked.  
  
"Aye, an' what else would ye have mae do?" Riala snapped, firing again and hitting her mark. "Two o' use an' a full score o' them. We've noo that many arrows, e'en if each strikes its mark, ye ken. An' I canna run noo more on m'leg, nor find wood for th' fire."  
  
Mackbry stood in silence as she fired off a third arrow and missed. Finally he nodded in reluctant agreement and began a search for wood.  
  
Several minutes later, the hare had a small fire blazing behind the boulder, and Riala's first quiver was empty. She had missed as many as she'd hit. The shadow-colored ferrets were virtually impossible to see in the ever-dimming light, let alone hit. If there wasn't a full moon peeking through the stormy clouds, Riala doubted she'd have hit anybeast.  
  
"Maybe you can do better than me," the squirrel told the colonel, her accent subsiding with the adrenaline rush. She tried to stand, but putting weight on her wounded leg combined with the sudden lightheadedness of blood loss caused her to grimace and collapse.  
  
"Riala!" Mackbry knelt beside her, his attention drawn to the fresh stains of blood on her leg. "Why didn't y'bind this afore shootin' ferrets?" he exclaimed.  
  
"It's nothing," Riala hissed past the pain. "Start shooting. The ferrets will get here if you don't, and then I'll be worse off than just wounded."  
  
The hare glared at her, but recognized the truth of her words. He turned and nocked an arrow to his bow and fired. Over the scream of a dying ferret, he spoke over his shoulder with a voice tight with anger. "Y'fool squirrel! I 'aven't pulled rank yet, y'know, 'cos y'r leadin' this mission, but I'm goin' ter make an exception 'ere! I order y'ter bind that leg of yours afore anythin' else!"  
  
Riala grimaced, knowing he was right. Wordlessly she tore off a strip of her tunic and tightly bandaged the deep cut on her leg. It would do until they got back to the fort- if they got back. That done, she took the quiver Mackbry wasn't using and packed dead, dry grasses around each arrowhead.  
  
The grasses caught fire easily, and the squirrel quickly put arrow to string and let loose. It caught flame in the dry underbrush of the glade, and she reached for another arrow. Ferrets who had been running towards the boulder turned and raced back to their glade in a desperate attempt to save it, but they were too few and too late. Riala shot another fire arrow in an entirely different area of the bone-dry glade, and then another. When the whole quiver was empty, the glade was burning quite well… along with its occupants.  
  
Mackbry turned away from the sight, his expression sickened. "Wot if it gets out o' control?" he asked quietly. "Burns down th' forest?"  
  
"It won't matter," the squirrel replied, pointing upwards. The storm clouds were thick and dark. Rain was only minutes away.  
  
"An' if it's too flippin' cold t'rain?" he asked. "Ice'r snow won't do much good, y'know."  
  
"It's not too cold," Riala said, the fire reflected in her gold-brown eyes. She turned towards Fort Ruddler, her face shadowed with a troubled expression. "And besides… it was the only thing we could do…"  
  
As Mack helped Riala limp back to the fort, the first drops of winter- chilled rain began to fall, hissing on the fire that consumed the glade and the black-gray ferrets within. 


	4. Mystery Beast

1 Mystery Beast  
  
Fort Ruddler Mission  
  
It was a brisk day in late January when the hare's body was found. Last week's snow still clung stubbornly to the ground, aided by chilly winter winds, though it was nowhere near as pristine and white as it had been. Yet dirt and mud and pawprints were not the only vandals of the once perfect surface. The snow was also stained by the hours-old blood of the mauled hare.  
  
A scout had stumbled upon the body and had immediately reported it, as was her duty, although nausea gripped her stomach and sorrow shadowed her heart. Drill Sergeant Sandfur Dunerunner was both saddened and angered over the loss of a fortbeast, but almost overriding those emotions was grim satisfaction. Creatures had been disappearing overnight, but this was the first body that had been found. The hare suspected the various disappearances and the body were linked by the same culprit. Now that there were clues, the trail of the mystery beast could be followed…and the Drill Sergeant knew just the beasts for the task.  
  
Riala Goldentail received the mission scroll at noon, just as she was rising from her seat at the crowded mess hall. She broke the seal with the casual manner of one who has done so many times before, and then unrolled it, gold-brown eyes quickly skimming the message. As she reached the end of the short message, the red-brown squirrel paused and read it again, but more slowly.  
  
Colonel Riala Goldentail:  
  
Fort Ruddler beasts have been disappearing overnight. Today a hare's body was found in a ditch, covered in huge claw marks and bite wounds. I believe the incidents are linked, but this is the first body we've found. Your mission is to track this "mystery beast" and stop it from killing again. I have assigned Brigadier General Mackbry Taffellappen and Major Teltol Riverbucki to work on this mission with you. Meet them at the west gate. The hare is in the ditch near that wall. A funeral will be held after your examination.  
  
-Drill Sergeant Sandfur Dunerunner  
  
Mackbry and Teltoli were waiting for her at the western gate. Both hares watched as she approached, expectant expressions on their faces. Riala paused, one scarred paw resting on the latch of the gate, rust-gold tail flicking in irritation. "What is it?" she asked finally, after the waiting silence stretched on, unbroken only by the whistling gale.  
  
"Wot, no complaint 'bout workin' best alone, Riala-me-Goldentail?" the older hare commented, brows rising in surprise.  
  
The squirrel's gold-brown eyes turned to the western gate, looking beyond the wooden door to the body she knew lay behind it. "If this 'mystery beast' is what I think it is, Mackbry," she said quietly, face grim, "then I won't be able to kill it on my own."  
  
The two hares exchanged uncertain glances. This wasn't like Riala. Normally she was fiercely independent, eyes shadowed with inner thoughts and dark memories, face expressionless as stone and voice devoid of emotion. Hatred lurked beneath her tone now, and gleamed red in a gold- brown gaze grown intense with the prospect of the hunt.  
  
"Let's go," the squirrel said, voice still quiet with a deadly cold more frigid than the winter wind. She opened the gate and stepped outside, followed closely by Mackbry and Teltoli.  
  
The sight of the hare was enough to bring bile to the throat of even the most hardened warrior. Long lacerations had turned once-brown fur to red, exposing shredded muscle and white bone. The ground was ripped to the earth, and what snow was not melted by the heat of the now-cool body had been turned a dark pink. The hare's stomach had been torn opened and emptied of its contents, some of which had been partially devoured.  
  
Even Riala's normally stony face had given way to brief horror and disgust, but it quickly passed. Her expression turned grim as she pushed repulsion aside and crouched beside the corpse, gold-brown eyes intently scrutinizing the deep claw marks. "Mackbry," she called, "Teltoli. Come look at this."  
  
The two hares had been examining the ground, torn by the fight between hare and beast. It was much less gut-wrenching than to read the story of the star-crossed battle in the body of the hare, but just as important. Yet at the squirrel's call, they walked over to the corpse and looked at the gashes her paw traced on the lacerated hide. "What do you think made these?"  
  
Teltoli's nose twitched, sorting past the scent of blood and death to the musky stench that was most certainly not hare. "Ferret?" he said doubtfully. "But no ferret 'as claws that large. I'd say weasel by th' smell, but y'see, there's not a weasel chap livin' with claws like that, nor teeth."  
  
"Badger'd be big enough, but th' claws're all wrong," Mack added. "So're th' teeth, doncherknow. Mebbe if ferrets got that big, an' I wouldn't want ter fight a ferret that big and savage-like!"  
  
"Aye, th' scent be much laike ferret, weasel, an' badger," Riala said grimly, earning a sharp glance from the two hares. Her northern accent only became noticeable under stress, although it was now barely stronger than normal. What she saw in the claw marks and bite wounds had upset her where not much else could. "Many has been the time I saw marks such as these… but I dinna see such savagery as this." One paw motioned towards the half-eaten entrails shriveled on the blood-stained earth. Riala took in a deep breath, calming herself, and her accent softened. "T'was when I was on the trail of Nightdeath Longclaws that I found bodies like this one."  
  
Shock was clear on the gray-whiskered face of Mackbry, mingled with concern. Tel's face showed only confusion. The younger hare had never heard Riala's tale, and the name she uttered meant nothing to him. "Nightdeath Longclaws?" he asked Mack in an undertone.  
  
The older hare sighed, eyes saddened. "A wolverine rotter," he replied in the same low voice. "He killed 'er pater. She hates the species more'n anythin'." He walked up to the squirrel silently and laid a compassionate paw on her shoulder. Her muscles grew as taut as a coiled spring beneath a touch that was meant as support. Mack shook his head and pulled his paw away. "Ever goin' t'let go of y'r hate, Riala?"  
  
One paw coiled into a white-knuckled fist, and the squirrel rose to her footpaws. She stared in the direction the trail led, every muscle tensed with anger. "Dinnae talk o' what ye canna understand, longears," she told the hare quietly, but her voice was icy with cold fury.  
  
It was Teltoli who broke the tense silence, his voice sounding out of place among the howl of the wind. "I say, chap an' chappess, we goin' ter stand about doin' nothin' but arguin' or go after th' wolverine rotter?"  
  
Riala nodded minutely, almost imperceptibly. She lowered herself to a partial crouch over the snow, following the trail on the ground. It was not difficult to find, not for as experienced a tracker as the squirrel. Flecks of blood stained the ground, and the occasional partial paw print with the distinctive claws of a wolverine marked the ground. Here and there, the faded scent of the large mustelid reached her questing nose. Occasional strands of dark brown fur had been shed, caught brush and sapling branches. Scuffed earth and snow, overturned leaves- all these proclaimed the wolverine's passing to anyone who knew how to read them.  
  
The two hares hastened to catch up with Riala, who continued to track silently. Teltoli watched her progress for several yards before finally speaking. "Y'cant hate all wolverines for th' wrongs of one, y'know."  
  
"Three," the squirrel said, not looking up from the ground.  
  
The hare paused, somewhat confused. "Wot's that?"  
  
"I've met three wolverines," she explained, voice as hard and cold as the ice that hung from the trees. "One killed my father, and now that one's dead by my paw. Another nearly killed a badger friend of mine, but the badger killed her in the end. The third…" A shadow flitted across Riala's normally expressionless visage- pain and unhealed grief and something indefinable. Then her eyes grew cold and her face again became stone. "I killed that one, too."  
  
Teltoli frowned, not convinced. "From wot I've seen, there's bad apples in every race, an' bloomin' nice 'uns as well. Y've just 'ad th' bad fortune of meetin' only th' rotters."  
  
She laughed, a harsh sound that caused both Mackbry and Teltoli to stare at her, the fur rising on their necks at the chilling, soulless sound. "Till somebeast proves me wrong, I'll believe what experience teaches. I've never met a wolverine that could be trusted, nor…" The squirrel halted in mid-scentence, nose twitching, tufted ears pricked. Both hares followed her example, wrinkling their sensitive noses in distance as they caught a whiff of the strong scent on the wind.  
  
"Phew, wot a smell!" Mackbry said in a low tone.  
  
"Aye," Riala agreed quietly. "It's close."  
  
Tel's ears stood straight up, quivering with alertness. "Listen!"  
  
All three woodlanders listened carefully, and then gazed at each other with grim faces. Above the wail of the winter wind could be heard growled mutterings in the toothy accents of a predator.  
  
It was the wolverine. They could tell that at once as they followed the voice, for the musky scent of mustelid never faded. It became only stronger as they moved closer, and when it was almost unbearable, they were near enough to understand the words that never seemed to fall silent.  
  
"…harrre… ferrrret… mouse… My subjects! See my thick coat… my long claws… sharrrp, they arre. Not enough subjects… I become hungggry, and thirrrsty! Subjects serrrve me well, then… but subjects too few! Must have morrre subjects… morrre mousse, ferrretses, harrreses… squirrrrelses, badgerrrses, birrrdses… weaselses… foxes… rrratses… My subjects! My loyal subjects… all forrr me, with me… I, Emprrress Laein! See me, subjects…"  
  
It continued in this vein for some time, never ceasing nor pausing. Slowly, silently, the three companions came into sight of the wolverine- and barely held back cries of shock and disgust and revulsion. Before the two hares and the squirrel was a strange scene, so unusual as to be otherworldly. A female wolverine, large even for her species, lounged on the uncured furs of various species- squirrels, hares, rats, ferrets, foxes, stoats, mice, shrews, moles… Bound and in wooden cages was a hare, a mouse, and a ferret, each with mixed emotion of fear, hate, and anger on their faces, as well as irritation bordering on insanity – possibly due to the crazed wolverine's unceasing monologue. The wolverine herself was unkempt; her long claws dyed red with old blood, her snout stained the same color. She combed the furs beneath her constantly, obsessively, continuing to rant.  
  
The three woodlanders pulled back, out of sight of "Empress Laein." Teltoli cast a wary glance in the direction of the crazed mustelid. "I say," he commented in a low tone, "if that long-clawed rotter isn't mad, I jolly well think I am!"  
  
"She's insane, all right… and that makes things much more difficult." Riala pronounced every s as a soft th, as the hissing syllable carried more clearly than any other whispered sound. "The only reason I was able to kill the Longclaws was because I'd trailed him for so long- I knew his fighting perhaps better than he himself. And even then he nearly killed me… Another almost killed a badger because the badger didn't know the wolverine's fighting style. A third…" Again that same hesitation from her earlier listing of wolverines she'd encountered. "That one was already wounded by a… companion of mine." She shook her head, dismissing her lapse. "Wolverines are fast and strong, and an insane one would also be unpredictable. Her claws and fangs are as deadly as our own weapons. If we met her in combat, we would not come away unscathed- if we came away at all."  
  
Mackbry looked unconvinced. "But there're three of us… Not even a wolverine chappess can be that strong!"  
  
The squirrel shrugged. "More fighters have died against a badger in bloodwrath. I'm not saying we wouldn't be able to win- I'm just saying that it would be costly. If there's a better way, I'd rather do that."  
  
The older hare nodded agreement. "Got t'agree with y'there, m'gel."  
  
Tel's eyes narrowed speculatively as he looked back to wear the wolverine still ranted. "So wot've we got that th' 'empress' don't?" After a brief second, not waiting for a reply, he continued. "Workin' minds is wot!"  
  
"True," Riala agreed, listening again to the half-growled monologue.  
  
"…must have morrre subjects…"  
  
Mackbry noted the calculating light in the squirrel's gold-brown eyes, and his own gray ones widened. "I say, treejumper! Y'aren't thinkin' wot I bally well think y'are, are you? Bit risky, wot?"  
  
"And when have hares ever feared risk?" she returned lightly.  
  
"So we just walk up t'this Laein chappess an' say we've come t'serve 'er?"  
  
"Hopefully she'll have a dagger in her gut by then," Riala said, grim anticipation in her voice.  
  
"I say!" Mack exclaimed, startled, "a bit underhanded, wot?"  
  
"Honor gets you killed," the squirrel said flatly, once again all ice and business. "It's all well and good when you're up against honorable beasts, but when the foebeast has no honor is deadly."  
  
"But if y'toss away honor, how c'n…"  
  
Riala cut the hare off mid-sentence. "The philosophy debate can keep until later, Mackbry. We need to act soon, before the 'empress' gets hungry and decides another of her subjects should make the ultimate sacrifice."  
  
"I don't like th' flippin' plan anymore'n y'do, Mack, but we don't have much of a bally chance, doncherknow," Teltoli said, glancing up at Riala as he spoke. "Th' treejumper chappess'll try it alone no matter wot we say or do."  
  
The older hare sighed and nodded reluctant consent. "Lead on, then, Riala," he told the squirrel, and the three woodlanders headed into the wolverine's clearing.  
  
The long-clawed predator looked up sharply as the hares and the squirrel walked casually into the clearing. The wolverine tensed, staring from woodlander to woodlander with the deep, unreasoning suspicion of the insane. "Harrreses… squirrrrell… Why here?"  
  
Teltoli took the question as an invitation to speak, spinning the deception in fine hare fashion. "I say, y'wouldn't be th' famous an' esteemed Empress Laein, would you?"  
  
Though still suspicious, the wolverine seemed to relax slightly at the compliment. "The Emprrress is beforrre you," she informed them, her usual growl becoming almost a purr. "She wonderrrs why you come, forrr most would fearrr her disapprrroval too much to pay herrr homaggge."  
  
"Ach, yet the desire tae see the face o' the Empress Laein be greater than th' fear o' her ire," Riala said, bowing low, though her accent betrayed her taut nerves. They were walking a dangerous line, one on which a single misstep would be death. "Her beauty do be legendary, ye kin."  
  
The self-styled empress preened at the flattery. "And is she as beautiful as rrrumor tells?"  
  
"Aye, an' more," Mackbry replied, joining the act. "Th' red face paint's a jolly good touch, wot!"  
  
As the wolverine continued to preen self-consciously, Riala spoke with a calculating gleam in her gold-brown eyes. "An' I heard tell o' another rumor," she said, watching the "empress" carefully. "Many is the beast what claims th' fur o' th' bonnie empress be coarse as wire, though it be pleasin' tae th' eye."  
  
Laein's eyes flashed angrily, and she was on her footpaws in one impossibly fast motion. "My furrr is soft as velvvvet! Who insulted the Emprrress? That one is a deadbeast!"  
  
"T'was a spikedog fool what told me of this falsehood," the squirrel replied, making sure to keep her tone passive, "an' what do a spinehide ken o' soft fur? I shall return an' tell yon spikedog he spoke wrongly. Although…" Her face took on a troubled expression, seemingly alien on the scarred, normally immobile features.  
  
"What is wrrrong?" the wolverine growled. "You will tell all of my soft furrr, and my legggend will gggrow!"  
  
"Aye, Empress, but I be a terrible liar," Riala returned. "If I am asked, 'how do ye ken th' fur o' the Empress?' and I reply, 'I have felt its softness,' naught will be believed."  
  
"Easy to rrremedy," the "Empress" scoffed. "Come and touch my furrr! Then let all know its softness!"  
  
Slowly, so as not to startle the crazed wolverine into violence, the squirrel walked up to her. She placed one paw on the mustelid's heart, and brought her other paw up in one quick movement. Laein saw the flash of sunlit steel too late. The dagger ripped through her stomach and then was driven upwards by a scarred paw to pierce the wolverine's heart. But insanity had not slowed the self-styled Empress' paw. She caught the squirrel in a deadly embrace, long blood-stained claws digging into Riala's back while her muscles clenched in an attempt to break the squirrel's spine. Her strength, however, was ebbing as quickly as her life.  
  
"I am… the Emprrress…" Laein choked out, a futile denial of the inevitable.  
  
"Aye…" Riala hissed between teeth gritted against the pain of the wolverine's claws. "Empress o' hellgates, now… Empress o' bone… an' dead!" She twisted the dagger ruthlessly, and the insane wolverine's red-brown eyes clouded over in death.  
  
The squirrel grimaced, tugging her weapon free and painfully rising. The dead wolverine's claws pulled free from her back, causing spots of darkness to dance across her vision. She turned slowly towards Mackbry and Teltoli, who were staring at her in concern. "I'm fine," she rasped. "Let's burn the body and the furs and release the woodlanders."  
  
Both hares ignored her words, instead approaching her in a few quick strides. "Bad form t'lie, doncher know," Mack scolded her mildly.  
  
"Oh, I say!" Tel's eyes widened as he caught sight of the dark stains on the squirrel's back. "I don't believe that's from th' wolverine rotter, wot!"  
  
Riala swayed on her footpaws, blackness creeping over her vision. "Told you… wolverines… not…" But the darkness was quicker than speech, and it enveloped her senses in thickest night before she could finish.  
  
To Drill Sergeant Sandfur:  
  
2 The hare, ferret, and mouse were released from their cages and helped to carry Colonel Riala Goldentail to Fort Ruddler's infirmary. They are settling into fort life with relative ease. The Infirmary healer reports that Colonel Goldentail's wounds are healing well, and that she should be able to return to active duty within the season. 


	5. Fort Ruddler - Sparring Grounds

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a two-part thread beginning in the Sparring Grounds and ending at the Common Room. I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. The parts of Mackbry and Teltoli were written by their respective players._

**Fort Ruddler - Sparring Grounds**

A red-brown squirrel leans against a wall, half-concealed by the shadows cast by torchlight, the only sign of movement being the slight sideways flicker of her tail. Shadowed gold-brown eyes watch the various sparring creatures critically, and she stands with one scarred paw resting on the curious short, thick, slightly curved dark brown hardwood stick tucked into her belt. A long cord attached to one end of the stick is coiled next to a plain but well-used and well-made dagger. The many scars of past battles show that this squirrel is a veteran of war, no stranger to fighting. Wiry muscles beneath a mottled forest-green-and-brown tunic show that she's as physically fit as any squirrel, and more so than some. She continues to watch, doing little more than leaning against the wall and observing.

Teltoli notices the squirrel and makes his way towards her. Upon reaching her he smiles and tips his ears towards her. "Lo there Riala, how have yah been? If yer lookin fer a jolly ol spar I'd be more then willin teh take one up with yah. What deh yah say?" 

_Hares, hares, a plague of hares..._ Riala thinks wryly as Teltoli walks up to her. She shrugs, taking out her roce and her dagger, winding the roce cord about her paw. "Why not?" the squirrel returns. "Shall we move to somewhere with more space, rather than by here by the wall?"

The hare grins offhandedly and nods to a sparring ring more towards the center of the grounds. It is a large pit with a short layer of sand covering the ground. "How bout that ring ovah there?" 

The hare glances at Riala's weapon as they walk over to the ring. "How exactly do you use that again? I remember watchin' y'practice out on the the shore but could yah refresh me memory wot?

At Teltoli's suggestion of using the ring to spar at, Riala shrugged noncommittally. "Looks good to me," she agreed, walking over to the sparring ring alongside the hare.   
  
However, when Tel asked about how the short, thick hardwood stick was used, the squirrel grinned and shook her head. "In a battlefield, you won't know what all the weapons wielded by your enemy will do, now will you? At least, not the more unusual ones. So I think you can wait until you see how my roce is used." She leapt easily over the ring's border with the natural ease of her species and turned to Tel. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's begin!" The squirrel drew into a fighter's crouch, wary and ready to move at a moment's notice.

Tel quiets down considerably as Riala speaks. He seems suddenly to loose his jovial edge as he realizes that the squirrel does not joke around. He checks his dirk in his belt and pulls his javelin from it's back holster. He takes the ring's border in a bound and lands in a crouch in the soft sand. He holds his javelin in a double-pawed hold, horizontally in front of his body. His muscles tense as he steels himself for hard sparring. "All right then, let's begin, wot!" The hare nods his head briefly signaling the beginning of the spar and recognizing his sparring partner. He moves forward easily with the javelin resting lightly in his paws. Suddenly he moves forward and snaps out the lower bladed end of his weapon, moving quickly to the right as he does so.

Riala clears her mind of all else but the sparring match, focusing intently on her opponent. Thought becomes action, well-honed reflexes sending her leaping backwards with all the agility of her species, the blade whistling a hair's length from her leg. The squirrel crouches warily, reassessing the hare. He was faster than she'd first thought...   
  
Without any warning besides the twitch of lean, hard muscle and a slight shifting of feet, Riala whirls, her roce whipping a whisker's length from Teltoli's face, her dagger flashing in her other paw as she continued the full-length spin. The steel was aimed low, down by the hare's knees, and then the squirrel returned to her original ready crouch, gold-brown eyes intent on the hare's, not checking to see if her blade had struck flesh or not, waiting for his next move. She was still assessing him, testing his reflexes and his fighting style. Soon the squirrel would begin to spar in deadly earnest.

The hare is galvanized into action as the squirrel reacts with the speed and determination he had thought she might. Tel quickly plants his right foot as he moves to the right and stops. Flipping his javelin into a quick half vertical hold the hare moves with battle quicken speed. He grimaces as he ducks, hearing the wind whistle directly above his now flattened back ears as the roce passes over head. He jams his javelin forward quickly towards Riala and twists it quickly down to block the dagger. As Riala moves into a crouch the hare is careful to keep his eyes locked on hers. He lunges forward suddenly, up and forward with the top blade of his weapon, striking at the squirrels side roce arm. He plants his left footpaw forward for his attack and then springs back lightly into standing position a few paces back.

The squirrel flings herself into a sideways roll as Teltoli begins to move. She uses her momentum to bring her to her footpaws, noting with a detached sort of surprise that her tunic sleeve has been sliced by the javelin blade. A thin line of blood stains her red-brown fur. Riala tests the arm, relieved that it's only a shallow cut and shouldn't hamper her fighting. Besides- she's fought with worse wounds.   
  
The cautious probing of the hare's ability is done with. The squirrel empties her mind of thought, of calculation, letting her reflexes be unhindered by her mind. She forgets that this is a sparring match only, slipping into the deadly, unthinking, unfeeling state of battle. No time to think- only time to act and react. Her only thought, the one that directs her roce and her dagger, is that Teltoli is her opponent. Her goal: Defeat Teltoli... and in Riala's mind, _defeat_ is synonymous with _destroy_. The squirrel lets out a length of cord, and the stick hangs loose from her paw. With an almost imperceptible flick of that selfsame paw, she sends the roce into a whistling spin. She moves forward quickly, the stick lashing out at the end of its cord for Teltoli's ribs. Her other paw holds her dagger, and it lunges for his face. 

Tel allows his body to take over as the spar continues. He senses that the squirrel is no longer concerned with inflicting harm on her sparring partner. Although she is one of the more fierce fighters Tel has faced, he has faced many and lived to tell. Years of practice and experience begin to take over the hare as he too falls into the crimson vision of battle. He stands his ground as Riala advances, neither giving nor taking any ground. As she nears the hare focuses himself on the squirrel's eyes and not on the whirring stick in her paw. As Riala releases the roce in attack, Tel moves back, just out of range of the swing. He weaves to the side, narrowly missing the attack to his face. He grimaces slightly as the dagger draws a thin line of blood down from his shoulder. He swings the bladed top end of his weapon under the dagger arm as he moves to the side, hoping to cut the squirrel's side, under her arm.

The blade bites into Riala's side, but she ignores the pain. It's not too deep, and in battle mentality, she doesn't even feel it. The squirrel attacks like a wild thing, closing in on Teltoli, beneath the reach of his javelin. The disadvantage with polearms was that if one's opponent was too close, it was hard to bring the blade around to slice one's opponent... She slashes upwards with her dagger, in towards his gut.

The hare falters for a split second as his blade strikes Riala. He slips from the mind frame of battle as he realizes he has wounded a fellow Ruddler member. He moves in numbed paces for a moment, something he learned in battle. Even when your mind is drawn away, your body must continue to fight at any cost. He speaks with a startled voice as the javelin cuts the squirrel. "Oh I say...!" 

He move back in a quick hop skip as the squirrel attempts to come under his weapon. being well versed in the javelin he is well aware of it's weakness in close quarters. Riala's blade barely misses his body, shearing the air fraction away from the hare's chest. He raises his javelin in a horizontal double paw hold as the squirrel attacks and then brings it down into a flip vertical hold, hoping to crack the haft down on the squirrel's arm as it moves from horizontal to vertical in his paws.

Even through the haze of unthinking battle-mind, the earlier wound taken from the javelin blade had reached the squirrel. Riala is not nearly so careless now. She twists sideways, the haft of the javelin merely striking her arm a glancing blow, nothing to impede movement. She feints left with the dagger, and then downwards. With all the speed and agility of her species, she lashes out with her roce towards Tel's head, even as the feint is completed and proved not to be an actual thrust.

Tel's experience causes him to shift away from the dagger. The instincts of a long range weapon fighter keeps the hare moving so hopefully the dagger cannot get to close in on his body. He moves to the side as Riala feints with her dagger. Keeping his attention focused on the middle ground the hare sees the whirring roce at the last possible moment. He moves even further to the side in a duck roll as the roce goes over head. He feels a sharp pain run down his neck as the roce clips both his ears. He refuses to come to terms with the pain in his ears and hop skips forward, javelin held in a point first position. He moves in, to a distance that cannot be reached by dagger and weaves the point once. Suddenly he thrusts hard forward, bringing his left footpaw forward, and resting on toe tips to spring back quickly after the attack, and hopefully avoid a possible roce swing. The thrust moves from a low position (around right hip height) across to a high position (around left shoulder height).

The feint with the javelin catches Riala by surprise, and she barely gets her roce up in time to parry the blow. It slices a gash in her tunic, and a thin line of blood stains her fur a shade closer to black than its usual red-brown. It's only a scratch, though, and she ignores it as she has the other scores on her person. The squirrel lashes out with one footpaw at Teltoli's gut, a perhaps surprising move as she hasn't used anything besides her roce and dagger as weapons thus far, and then pivots on her other paw. She throws her stick with all of her force and the force of her spin behind it, and it streaks in a tumbling spin for Tel's head. Not waiting to see if it hits, Riala flings herself after the stick, dagger aimed towards the hare and making her tackle deadly.

The hare's eyesglint dangerously as the spar continues with deadly fury. Tel had never been in such a deadly spar before and it took all his strength to keep his battle blood from whipping him into true life and death fighting. He presses back off his forward paw into a full standing position and thrusts down the lower blade of his javelin as the sqiurrel kicks out, hoping to block the footpaw with the blade of his weapon. He still has the javelin in a low vertical hold as the roce whips out at a blurring speed. The hare's bright eyes follow the weapon as it streaks out. He moves back and to the side as fast as possible but the stick clips him hard on his temple. His head begins to thump hard and the hare feels himself losing his balance. He takes a knee and thrusts his javelin to the side to signal a break in the spar. Mentally the hare hopes that Riala will see he is calling a respite and does not kill him.  
  
"Oh, jolly well got me there marm... jolly... well... got me... uh..."

The hare places a paw to the side of his head, feeling blood running through the fur. The blow is not deadly, not even close to that but Tel decided better to be safe than sorry with head injuries. He slumps to the side, crossing his legs and holding his head. Knowing that laying down will make his injury worse, the hare waits for the pounding to subside. He looks up at Riala after a moment, the normal glint in his bright eyes dulled in pain. "I say, got me a good one with that stick o yer's, prime weapon wot..." 

Still locked in the unthinking savagery of battle, Riala continues her tackle, blade flashing a hair away from Teltoli's throat. Perhaps it was the hare's setting aside of his javelin that stayed her paw; more likely it was a lurking vestige of reason and awareness that tugged at the corners of the veil of battle-fury. Slowly the savage light falls away from the squirrel's eyes, and conscious thought comes flooding through the rip in the veil of instincts. Gold-brown eyes widen in shock as she sees the blood on Teltoli's head, and she stumbles backwards when she realizes what she has been doing. Riala flings away her dagger as if it had burned her, eyes wild with near-disbelief.   
  
"What have I..." The unfinished sentence trickles from her lips in a whisper of fear, though not for any physical danger. It's a fear of the shadowy depths of her soul, shadows she'd thought she could control... darkness she'd thought she could live with. She'd accepted them as an irreversible portion of her self, named and known the unthinking savagery she contained within her- but she'd never thought that those mindless instincts would cause her to wound a goodbeast. 

With a strangled cry like that of a wild thing who had just discovered the chains that bound it, Riala whirls and runs, racing away from the sparring grounds, footpaws pounding the earth as if she could flee from her very self. 

The hare sits still for a few minutes, willing the pain in his head to subside. Through lightly blurred vision he watches as the squirrel whirls away. After a while the hare feels he is ready to stand. He whips a clean cloth from his jerkin pocket and soaks it in the barley water he keeps in a flask at his side. Places the makeshift bandage on his head Tel stands gingerly and stows his javelin. "I say wot! Jolly well good hit there...where has she gone...bettah find the lass...don't want er' feelin' bad bout clockin' me...twill jest make me faster in the future wot!"  
  
The hare gathers his things and heads towards the outside of the battle ring. On the way he notices Riala's roce and dagger. Grabbing the both the hare strides out across Ruddler grounds looking for his sparring partner.

* * *

**Fort Ruddler Common Room - Platoon 4 Barracks**

A red-brown squirrel bursts into the common room, gold-brown eyes wild, a myriad of mixed emotions on her scarred features. It seems she's added a few scars, as well- small amounts of blood stain her mottled green-and-brown tunic. Her rust-gold tail lashes in agitation, and every muscle is tensed as if ready to fight- but against whom? Or _what_?   
  
To those who know the squirrel, the strangely intense fear and even revulsion in her normally expressionless face is frighteningly alien. Just as startling is the absence of her dagger and throwing club, normally tucked into her cord belt. She stares wildly from face to face, and then with a strangled cry, she races into the unlit barracks, still running from the inescapable - still attempting to run away from the darkness within herself. 

After asking a few beats Tel finds that Riala had come to the common room. The hare enters, blood soaking through the self-made bandage about his features. Although the hare is in some pain, his expression only reveals concern for his sparring partner and her whereabouts. The hare hopes he had not done anything to make her react so. After asking about again, Tel is referred to the barracks. He grabs a tall glass of fresh water and heads over to the barracks. Tel sits, his back against a porch pole outside of the barracks. After sipping the water for a few minutes the hare calls out, hoping Riala would hear.

"I say wot! Fine eve this is turnin out tah be an no mistake. Nice cool water after a good spar. Jolly well fine day..." Tel hopes that Riala would respond to his casual words. He sips the water, wondering what had caused such a reaction from her.

Within the barracks, Riala leans against the cool stone wall, eyes closed as she finally begins to force away her initial panic- or at least bottle it up, as she does so well with all other emotions. She flinches as she hears Teltoli's call, a shudder gripping hold of her scarred body. He's not upset, she can tell that- but he's a hare. Her mouth twists into something that could not be called a smile by any account, and she remains silent, breathing deep in a desperate battle with her soul. Scarred paws tighten around blood-stained arms, an attempt to quell the shivering that had come with the full realization of the darkest depths of her self.

A hare watches Riala quietly from the nearby shadows, her flute held lightly in one paw. She is all but invisible in her brown tunic and gray cloak, though her fine brown eyes are dark with a strange sadness. She is no stranger to fear and pain; she has seen too much of it on her own wanderings. Stormflower twitches an ear as Teltoli approaches, and her eyes mist over. She has seen something like this, not so very long ago, and the memory never left her. For a long moment, she is lost in her thoughts. She sees again the bloodied shore, and the little otter, trying so hard to be brave beside his dying father...   
  
Almost subconciously, she lifts the flute to her mouth. The little one played a tune for his lost clan that day, a song that expressed more than anything what he saw and felt. The melody burned itself into Stormflower's mind then; but it is not the tune that she plays now. The hare alters the notes, toying with them as she can. The song is a sad one, tinged with sorrow and loss. But under the pain, there seems to be a promise, a promise of brighter days and newer joys, of winter that has gone, passed away, and of spring that has come... 

The hare continued to sit with his back against the porch pole. The bleeding on his temple was subsiding now due to the pressure Tel had been applying to the area while he sipped at his water. His ears twich as music began to issue from somewhere deep in the shadows of the barracks. The hare listens for a bit. Although he is jaunty and jovial by nature he as well knows what it feels like to be searching for oneself. He begins to suspect that this may be what is wrong with Riala. He had seen a strange darkness in his friend's eyes as she fought him. Tel began to realize that the way the squirrel reacted was not just from hurting him, but something deep that had scarred her in the past. The hare was determined to help the squirrel over come this if he could, after all, he now regarded Riala as a friend.   
  
Toying with Riala's dagger the hare spoke out loud to himself, his bright eyes shining deeply as the dying rays of the sun fell upon them. "Battle, blood, weapons, war...does strange things to a beast it does...one can lose 'imself in th' past, they think it might control their future. Truth be told, it will if'n yah let it. Tis an odd path all real fighters must traverse..."   
  
The hare speaks with knowledge that defies his regular moods. He has obviously learned about hard situations in his past. Though he does not claim to have the same feelings about himself as Riala, he begins to understand where she is coming from after some thought. Teltoli sits, watching the grounds of Ruddler grow pink with the falling sun, golden dust motes wafting on the warm southern breezes.

A small creak is heard as the door to Platoon Five barracks slowly opens. A sleepy-eyed, older gray hare exits, groggily yawning as he adjusts the slanted blue cap on his silver headfur. He pins his blue cloak together with a small, detailed brooch shaped almost like a spiral. Mack hefts his spear over his shoulder and starts for the tunnel leading to the common room when a sad tune met his gray ears. He turns towards the entrance to Platoon Four barracks and is surprised to find two fellow hares in front of it, one of which he recognizes.   
  
"Oh, why hello Tel m'boyo!" he calls out cheerfully, the situation unknown to him. "Been awhile since I seen the likes of yerself. Eh...y'get locked out? Jest takes a tweedle of a dagger t'open barrack doors, show you if y'like."

The squirrel closes her eyes as the music crescendos over her, bringing buried memories and hidden thoughts to the surface. She slides down the wall until she's sitting with her back against it. As Teltoli finishes speaking, she draws in a shuddering breath and shakes her head, although she knows he can't see the gesture. "It's not that... not entirely," Riala tells him quietly, voice managing to carry beyond the closed barrack door. "It's just... I..." She flinches against the memory of her unthinking, savage attack against a goodbeast; a friendly spar that had escalated into a battle of life-and-death in her instinct-driven mind. She had fought to kill, even though she was not fighting a true enemy... 

Stormflower stills the tune slowly, gradually drawing the melody to a close. For a moment, she is silent, then she speaks from the shadows. "The key to victory may be in having no care for the other's life, to have mastery with the blade is to throw all other thought and emotion away. But have no fear, squirrel, though I know not your name; the moment has passed and the bloodlust is gone. I will be at the Harbor with my flute. You may come if you wish." There is a flicker in the shadows, and the hare is gone. 

Mack starts at Riala's voice, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly dawns on him. But he is in a good mood, having just waken from his afternoon nap, and does not intend to lose his merriment. He turns to Tel, explaining. "If y'don't know her past, then I won't be the one to tell you. But tis sad, no doubt about that, and she was robbed of her parents at a very young age. She's carried hate for many seasons of her poor life."   
  
Strangely, a small, half-smile spreads across his face as something had struck him. Mack speaks towards the closed door in a hushed tone, but loud enough for the squirrel inside to hear. "Riala, tis jest struck me. Yer right, that one time in the tavern, y'were right. Y'can't erase yer hate....Tis jest like an' ol' poem that's been passed down the Taffellappen line fer many generations says. Tis been many seasons an' seasons since any real grief has taken my family, but there is a poem I used t'here when I was a young one. Mayhap t'will help."  
  
_"The color of hate is the black ink that spills on the sheet of life.   
It spreads, covering the sheet with the sticky solution and weakening it.   
The black is the first thing that draws the eye, blocking out all recollection of what is behind it.   
  
The ink dries, leaving the sheet marred with black, turning the heart to ice.   
The black does not rub away, it does not become faded for it is blacker than the shadows of night.   
All hope for the sheet to return to its original form is forgotten, the ink sticking permanently to remind it of dark times. _

_But the day yet comes when a paintbrush is dipped into white, spread thick on our sheet of life.   
The blackness remains, but is buried beneath white, it is not seen, it is forgotten.   
Pink and blue, green and red, more colors are added as the once black sheet turns bright.   
A life is regained, a beauty unleashed, a hatred forgotten, and colors untold added to black.   
  
The color of hate is the black ink that spills on the sheet of life.   
The color of life is the white that brushes over the black.   
And the color of friendship are the many colors that block away the black forever." _  
  
Long seconds passed as he finishes it, surprising even himself that he could remember words spoken many seasons ago. With a strangely content sigh, Mack sits down on the doorstep to the barracks, somehow seeming proud of himself. 

Teltoli listens closely as Riala speaks. Never having heard the tale of his matey's past he finds him self slightly relieved as Mack began to speak to her. After listening to Mack's poem, he looks up at the older hare as Mackbry sits down on the porch. "Tis true, those words yah spoke Mack... "

Riala listens with closed eyes, tight bands gripping her heart in a vise as Mackbry recites the poem. "Thank you, Mack..." she says finally, after he finishes and a few moments pass in silence. "It's just..." The squirrel hesitates, her next words addressed perhaps to the two hares, perhaps to herself, perhaps to nobeast in particular. "...I've known for a long time that I held this... darkness inside me. Mercilessness, coldness, hatred... It's been a part of me for so long that I had grown to accept it. Even take a sort of perverse pride in it... It's what makes me the fighter I am." She shakes her head slowly, though she knows Mackbry and Teltoli can't see the motion. "But I never thought it could get so out of paw. Not so much that I'd attack a goodbeast like I'd fight vermin. Not so much that I'd come close to trying to kill a friend... all because I'd dropped all emotion and thought so that I could fight better. It's the only way I know how to fight. Wholly and completely, without holding back... and I fought this way _against a goodbeast._"   
  
"What if that happens again, but at war, in battle? What if I hurt a friend... even kill a friend... while fighting vermin in that state of mind? Because I can't help fighting that way. Fighting with complete and unhindered bloodlust. I can't stop it... I take my weapons in my paws and fight and suddenly all thought is gone into only action and I can't recognize friend from foe... What if, next time, I don't remember myself in time to stop myself from killing somebeast... from killing a friend?" She falls silent then, out of words, wrung dry by unaccustomed emotion and the intensity of uncharacteristic speech. Riala leans against the wall again, eyes closed once more, wondering what her friends could think of her now...

Mack shakes his silver-furred head, his mood dropping as he had hoped it wouldn't. He sighs; his poem had obviously affected the squirrel, but would it change her? "That's what friendship changes, m'gel. When yer _really_ a friend to somebeast, an' you've no hate bundled up inside of you anymore, then you don't have t'fight like a madbeast. Y'may kill faster that way, but 'tis a hazard to any near. When yer aware of yerself when fighting, you know the right creatures to hurt."   
  
He sighs, a small smile threading its way across his face as he leans against the door. The older hare seems almost as if in a daze, remembering the good things of life. "That's friends, they....they....make you whole. Without friends a beast's life is lonely, forlorn, unwanted. When my parents died in a snowfall, I felt unwanted, lonely, deperate t'jest open up t'some beast an' cry, jest pour my heart out to them, jest to tell somebeast about my troubles; not my story, my troubles. I did, an' suddenly any feelings of hate I might have had for my parents leaving my were gone, I felt better, much better, an' all because of friends. They banish any hate from a beast's life, they make creatures laugh, they make them smile....they make them love." Mack's last words are whispered, barely audible when heard through a wooden door, and his voice seems cracked by emotion; a great sadness and pity for his young friend, a yearning for her to be happy.

The hare sits, staring off into the dusty grounds of the Ruddler barracks area. He sighs quietly as Mack spoke, once again agreeing completely with the older hare. Still having both his parents, Tel can only imagine the grief of losing them, especially in an accident situation. The hare felt the sadness of his two friends, but firmly held a thin smile on his features. A far off look in his eyes reflected the fading rays of the sun as he speaks. "What Mack says is true Riala...an we're both yer friends if yah need us in any way. Mayhap, we kin try a spar again. Take it slow, learn tah control yer feelings an' focus yer concentration in battle..."  
  
The hare toys with Riala's dagger as he spoke, her roce laying neatly coiled at his side. "Yah er' a great fighter though m'gel, I'll give yah that. T'would be a shame tah let such talent go tah waste. Take time, move slowly, and learn t'channel yerself wot!"

Riala waits for her two friends to finish speaking, gradually composing herself and pulling herself together. She rises at last, sloughing off her mood like an unwanted cloak. "Thank you, Teltoli, but I don't think I should spar again any time soon," she says quietly, opening the barracks door. Her usual emotionless mask is in place once more, her voice holding its familiar flat tone, but this façade is her refuge. It's all she's known, ever since her father was killed... But Mackbry and Teltoli have been allowed a rare glimpse into the hidden, shielded, vulnerable child that has somehow managed to survive past loss and hate and pain and war. That inner self has been locked away for so long behind layers and layers of shields- of coldness, hatred, battle-fury, mercilessness devoid of emotion. Lost in a shadow-cloaked maze of distrust and caution, of blades and fury and bloodwrath and hate. Yet the child still lives, and has been allowed a momentary voice... and now, perhaps, she will be able to find her way through the maze in time.   
  
In time... Seasons, years, perhaps the rest of her life. But now the child within is more vulnerable than ever, for there are now cracks in the seasons-old shield. And if something finds those cracks, those weaknesses, and gets through... the one part of Riala Goldentail that is still truly living will be destroyed. She gazes silently at Teltoli and Mackbry, gold-brown eyes still shadowed, but perhaps with a spark alight in the very depths of that piercing gaze. She picks up her roce and dagger, holding them in scarred and callused paws for one second of hesitation before tucking them in their accustomed places in her belt. To both hares, a nod is all she gives in return, slight and barely noticeable- but it cannot be mistaken for anything other than a nod of gratitude. Riala doesn't trust her voice for words, for she has said more in these past minutes than she normally does in a day. She turns away, sets her face to the harbor, and walks away on silent paws.

The hare watches Riala as she emerges from the barracks. He paws over the dagger to the squirrel, nodding to her roce, coiled at his side. Upon seeing the nod from Riala the hare respond with a simple nod of friendship and respect. He speaks to Mack as he watches the squirrel head out towards the harbor. "I say Mack m' bucko, she's got an interestin' tale, I kin tell. I hope what we said tah er' tahday kin help er' in some way..." His emotion shifts to a bit more upbeat note as the hare continues speaking. "Would yah like tah join me fer some vittles in the tavern Mack?"

"Nah Tel." Mack thoughtfully cups his chin is his paws as he began thinking aloud. "Although, I think her shell already _is_ cracking m'boyo. She weren't her normal self when she was all closed up in that barracks, no sah she weren't. I think I'll jest take a stroll around the fort, be seein' yah Tel m'boyo!"


	6. Underground Slavers

Underground Slavers  
  
Fort Ruddler Mission  
  
Footpaws padded on cold stone, claws tapping lightly on the worn floors of the winding tunnel. The soft pawsteps stopped as the squirrel who caused them slowed to a halt. A rust-gold tailbrush flicked away a cobweb in the darkness of the dimly lit caverns, and then resumed its restless, erratic lashing of the cool underground air. Gold-brown eyes reflected a distant torchlight, narrowed as the creature that bore the flame drew closer still. As silent as the shadows cast by that flickering light, the squirrel stepped lightly and quickly into a sheltered side tunnel, watching with wary eyes as the nimbus of revealing light reached her hiding place.  
  
Her paw shot out without warning, drawing the creature into the tunnel with surprising force. One scarred paw clamped down on the otherbeast's muzzle, the other slamming the torch flame into the ground, extinguishing it in a single movement. The musky scent permeating the air made it clear that the torch-bearer was a ferret.  
  
"Stop struggling!" the squirrel hissed, gripping the ferret's snout tighter.  
  
The otherbeast's frantic attempts to get free ceased abruptly at the sound of his captor's voice. "Goldentail?" he whispered.  
  
"Aye. What news?" Riala Goldentail released her captive and waited, invisible in the thick shadows.  
  
"The ruse is workin' – so far, anyhow," the ferret reported. "Nobeast's noticed a few extra slaves 'cept th' slaves themselves, an' those posin' as slaves claim t' be new caught. Usn's pretendin' t'be slaver guards're doin' all right, 'cept when we has t'do o'erseer duties. Th' lurkers like y'self 'aven't been discov'red yet, not so far as I've heard."  
  
The squirrel nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Anybeast able to get close to Kerno yet?"  
  
"Nay, not yet," the ferret said ruefully. "He don't trust many. Don't e'en go near the slaves, jes' stays out of range of e'en rocks bein' thrown when 'e comes t' watch or sell."  
  
"We'll have to fix that, then…" Riala ran a calloused paw along the worn stick in her belt, thinking hard. "I may have a plan. Is there anybeast of ours who's gained much rank or respect yet?"  
  
"Shairil. She'd been born in a group like this'n an' knows what t'do t'get respect."  
  
The squirrel turned the name over in her mind, trying to match it with a face. "Shairil… The weasel fem, right?"  
  
"That's th' one," the ferret agreed.  
  
"Trustworthy?" A nod was her answer, sure and unhesitating. "Get word to her. Tell her I'll be in tunnel nine all night, and to meet me there when she can."  
  
A shrill whistle resounded through the caverns, piercing the air three ear-splitting times. "That's th' change of guard," Riala's informer whispered hastily. "'Luck, Lieutenant Gen'ral." With a quick salute barely visible in the dim light, the ferret hurried from the dark side tunnel and back to the main one.  
  
Riala waited, listening as footsteps and the clink of weapons and armor announced the passing of vermin going to and from the slave pit, some returning from guard duty, others going to it. She crept down the side tunnel on velvet paws, away from the hustle-and-bustle of the main caverns, her mind churning.  
  
It had been a full season since she'd first stepped into this maze of underground tunnels, found quite by accident by herself and two hares, Mackbry Taffellappen and Teltoli Riverbuck. They had been looking for several dibbuns and elderbeasts that had gone missing while on a picnic, when they fell through the soft earth into an icy river far beneath the ground. Riala had been knocked unconscious by the fall and captured by the slavers that resided within the tunnels. It turned out that this was no ordinary band of slavers, but a veritable army, separated into smaller groups that scoured the Northlands for slaves. It was here that the slaves were gathered and exercised by moving large stones and small boulders from one pile of rocks to another before they could be sold. When they weren't working, they were kept in a deep pit, heavily guarded by vermin.  
  
With the help of an escaped slave named Birnen, Mackbry and Teltoli were able to free Riala and the picnickers from Fort Ruddler that they'd been searching for, but they were unable to do more than that. Once back at the fort, however, Birnen was persuaded to draw a detailed map of the labyrinth and all its secret passages that he knew so well. Gradually a plan had been put into action, and Riala had inserted herself into the thick of things, determined to repay the leader of this slave trade, the weasel Kerno, for her stay in his slave pit.  
  
Little by little, Kerno's forces had been infiltrated by Fort Ruddler. Those few fortbeasts that were stereotypically vermin species came a few at a time to "join" the weasel's slavers, gathering information, gaining trust and allies, spreading rumors and causing general division within the ranks of vermin. Otherbeasts, such as Riala, lurked in the shadows, using their knowledge of the tunnels to avoid slaver guards. And in the past few weeks, others had begun to pose as slaves, gleaning information almost more than any. Nobeast noticed slaves, and so talked freely while being waited on by a closely listening, apparently subservient slavebeast.  
  
Riala thought of Birnen's map, examining it in her memory. Each tunnel had been either numbered or named for reference when sending messages along the vine of spies. Tunnel nine hardly deserved the name. It was little more than a narrow connecting passage, deep within the labyrinth and never used by the slavers. Rumor stated that the area tunnel nine was in held ghosts, vengeful and terrible, and the superstitious vermin believed in those ghosts with whole-hearted fear. It was a rumor begun by the creatures of Fort Ruddler, and a useful one.  
  
The squirrel padded quietly into tunnel nine, flattening herself into a nook near the passage entrance. Her gray-black tunic, replacing her usual forest-hued one, helped her to blend into the inky shadows. A cloak of the same shade secured around her shoulders aided in the deception, covering tufted ears, distinctive bushy tail, and throwing her features into indecipherable black. She leaned her head against one cool stone and closed her eyes, drifting off into a feather-light state of sleep.  
  
Pawsteps pulled her out of her nap, gold-brown eyes flying open, one paw closing around her dagger hilt. Riala immediately let out a high, ghostly chitter, one that echoed down the tunnel, rock distorting the sound so that it seemed to come from all directions and none. An unearthly hiss answered the call, and the squirrel relaxed minutely. It was a fortbeast, not a slaver braving the "haunted" tunnels.  
  
Her nose twitched at the rank scent of weasel. "Shairil," she called softly.  
  
"I am here," was the calm reply. "Why did you have me come?"  
  
"I've a plan to end this for good." Quickly, wasting neither time nor words, the squirrel outlined her idea. "I'm going to pose as a slave. When you seem me in the quarry while Kerno's there, position yourself near him. I'll attack the slaver – you stop me. Use whatever force you need, but stop me. I won't go down easily," Riala warned. "It will have to be real in order to look real. Hopefully that'll earn you some big points with Kerno, maybe convince him to let you into his little council of slavers."  
  
"You could get killed for it," Shairil pointed out, her voice as emotionless and businesslike as the squirrel's.  
  
"Perhaps, but perhaps not. Hand me over to a guard, preferably one of ours. I'll escape, and there should be enough confusion to cover me. You work on earning Kerno's trust and respect however you can." She emphasized those three last words carefully, hoping that the weasel fem understood and would comply.  
  
Clothing rustled in the dark as Shairil shifted, perhaps nodded. "And then?"  
  
"You'll get word from one of ours. Do this first."  
  
Silence from the tunnel's entrance, and finally the Fort Ruddler weasel spoke. "Seasons bless, Goldentail."  
  
"Aye, to you too. We'll all need whatever help we can get," Riala returned grimly, and then fading pawsteps told of Shairil's departure.  
  
Riala Goldentail sat in one corner of the slave pit, gold-brown eyes narrowed, muscles tensed, fury boiling behind her shadowed gaze. She'd seen the slaves working before, even been in the pit before, but never had she been forced to just sit and do nothing. To merely watch the crying young ones, the blank-faced elders, the deadened eyes of broken slaves… There were those whose spirits blazed within them like a torch, those with hatred in their eyes, a will still strong and a spirit still uncrushed. These last she understood and viewed with grim respect. But how long would it take until they were broken? How long until they were nothing more than the soulless bodies that moved uncaring to wherever they were directed? And the others… even if they were freed, could they ever be healed in body, mind, and spirit?  
  
I'm not cut out for this, the squirrel thought. I can't just sit here and watch! I want to fight, to kill the vermin scum who have done this, to- No, she told herself firmly. You're doing something. You're fighting. It's just not what you're used to…  
  
Cutting through the despair that shadowed the slaves sounded a clear note, achingly pure, seemingly alien to this dark place. The sound hovered in the air for a single golden moment, and then cascaded down the scale. The thread of sound flowed softly upwards in pitch, and then down, a song of sorrow and of grief, one that could cause the stones to weep. The melancholy tune mirrored the despairing mood in the pit, but then subtly changed to make it less despair and more sorrow for innocence lost, love lost, life lost. Slowly it built in volume and rose in pitch, a lame eagle discovering that it had wings, that the loss of legs was only a push through a doorway to greater things… to soar. Swooping down the scale, climbing back up with effortless ease, letting the dreaming spirits of everybeast listening to carry the tune like rising thermals, piercing the stormy clouds to burst into the sun, a clear high note, vibrating in the air, leaving all who listened waiting for more life-giving melody.  
  
Ending- but with the promise of more to come, the hint of life still waiting to continue on, the hope of freedom.  
  
Riala stared at the slaves around her. Where she'd thought no soul existed was now a flicker of life in once-dulled eyes. Dibbuns had ceased their frightened wails. Elderbeasts smiled slightly, eyes closed, remembering long-ago memories. Even the vermin guards seemed at peace, far- off looks on their faces as they contemplated some light within the darkness of their past.  
  
The squirrel rose from her seat and walked slowly through the crowded pit, towards the source of the music. She didn't know what manner of creature she was expecting to find. It certainly wasn't a young field mouse, barely older than a dibun, eyes closed, a contented smile on her black-brown face. She held what looked like a clay pendant in one delicate paw, strung on a cord about her neck.  
  
"Hello, little one," Riala said softly, kneeling beside the mouse child.  
  
The field mouse's black button eyes opened, regarding her curiously. She put her pendant to her mouth shyly and arranged her paws on the four holes on top of it, and then piped three clear notes. They sounded almost like a greeting, cheerful and welcoming.  
  
There was a slightly older hedgehog with salt-and-pepper colored quills sitting beside the young mouse. She looked at Riala with a smile. "She doesn't talk," the hogmaid explained, unasked. "Just plays her oc-ar-i- na." She sounded out the word carefully, but with respect. "We calls her Hope, seein' as we doesn't know her real name. I'm Pepperquill," she added as an afterthought.  
  
"Hope…" The squirrel watched the mouselet closely, remembering the earlier melody. "A fitting name." She looked at the round, russet-brown pendant that the mouse child still held. A clear blue stone, though no jewel Riala had ever seen, rested in the center of a symmetrical flower design. "Is that the … ocarina, did you say?"  
  
Pepperquill nodded, happy to talk to somebeast. "Yup! It's purty! See, it gots four holes in th' top, an' one in th' side, where ya blow in, an' two on th' bottom. One's just f'r sound t'come out, an' t'other's s'posed t'be covered most of th' time," she explained.  
  
"Thank you, Pepperquill," the squirrel said to the hogmaid, smiling despite herself at the irrepressible youngster. Smiling… Not something she did very often. She looked curiously at Hope, wondering at the effects of the youngling's music. "You're very good with that," she told the mouse.  
  
Hope returned her curious gaze with an intense, puzzled one of her own. It seemed to go straight through all the shields, walls, and layers Riala had built around herself, straight to the very heart of her being, to the innermost protected part of her. She tilted her head, questioning, and then blew into her ocarina. This time her song held a note of panic, meandering about, whirling through a confusing maze as if pursued by a nameless fear… and then stopping at a last note, pitched high like the end of a question.  
  
"She wants t'know why y'r hidin'," Pepper said, translating. "She does this lots. Wants t'know things 'bout people an' she's only just met 'em. I think she c'n read hearts," the hogmaid confided.  
  
"Why I'm… hiding?" Riala stared at the mouse child in shock, the tune having affected her in ways she could hardly comprehend, the question holding a ring of truth that she didn't want to think about. "But I'm not hiding from anything…"  
  
Hope shook her head in something very close to exasperation, piping again, the tune drawing pictures in Riala's mind. It began with melancholy minors, cut short by a jarring blast of angry notes, sharp and disharmonious. The tune flowed into a rising chromatic scale, a burning and smoldering hatred building like a while. And then that meandering tune again, panicked and lost, running from an unseen foe.  
  
"She says you're – sad… angry… uhm…" Pepper faltered and glared with mock ire at Hope. "It's so confusing, Hope! I can't figure it out!"  
  
"That's okay, Pepperquill," the squirrel said, her normally emotionless voice strangely soft. Gold-brown eyes held pain as she withdrew into herself, the mouselet's tune bringing forth long-buried memories. She understood what Hope was telling her, that she was lost in a maze of walls meant to protect, hiding behind grief and rage and hate. Somehow this little mouse had reached deep into the very heart of her and seen past the masks, the façades, the lies- straight to the all-too-simple truth.  
  
Riala looked away, breaking eye contact with that dark, wise, intense gaze that saw far too much. "I lost somebeasts close to me," she explained slowly, quietly. "They were killed by vermin, but… I got my revenge."  
  
Hope's eyes held a sympathizing sadness, an intense grief of her own. Another grieving melody trickled from the ocarina, yet untainted by hate as Riala's was. "Hope's mommy an' daddy was slaves here, once," Pepperquill explained. "But they's been solded, mebbe deadbeasts now…" The melody stopped, and the field mouse watched the squirrel closely before playing again, this time an angry song of hate and fury, unforgiving and unforgetting, ending with a question's pitch. "An' now she wants t'know ifn' y''killed th' vermin, why're you still mad?"  
  
The squirrel watched an ant climb over her paw, laboring to the top of the scarred mountain, needless toil when it could just go around. "Because that's all I know," she answered finally. "Because I can't stop…" Riala scowled, suddenly angry at herself for revealing so much, pushing away the memories and thoughts and emotions that had been coaxed to the fore by the little mouse's melody. "I don't have time for this." Her voice was toneless, brusque, and she stood with one quick and savage movement. Not trusting her mental and emotional walls to stand firm against the knowing intensity of Hope's dark eyes, she didn't look back as she strode away through the crowd of slaves.  
  
But Hope didn't need eye contact for her sharp insight to strike true. The melody that followed Riala was soft, fearful, and the golden- tailed squirrel needed no interpreter to know that she was being told she was afraid… afraid to trust, afraid to let go of her ever-present anger and hate, afraid to let loose her past, to drop all the walls so painfully built, afraid to expose the one part of her that was not lifeless, soulless stone to the world's harsh gusts.  
  
Riala built up anger against that song of truth, stoked it with fury and hate, even as the melody changed to a cheerful and lively dance, the pure joy of living only intensified by the memory of trials and pain and grief. The squirrel gritted her teeth and pressed her paws to her ears, fighting it off with the thoughts of her past. Remembering how trust led only to death, how mercy led only to defeat. Reminding herself how loving ended in loss, and remembering the lessons a life of pain and loss and betrayal and grief had taught her.  
  
Hope's melody slowed, a music box winding to its end, fading to silence. Riala let her paws fall to the ground, not wondering when she'd fallen to her knees. She had won this strange battle for her innermost self… so why did she feel as if she had so completely lost?  
  
The days dragged by, the only light in the tunnels and slave pit being that of torchfires and cookfires. It was impossible to determine night and day; time was marked by the shrill blast of the whistle that signified a change in guard, a meal, or a change in the work shift. Riala watched and waited for the perfect chance- for Kerno and Shairil to be in the quarry during Riala's shift.  
  
It seemed to take forever. Either Kerno was there and Shairil wasn't, or Shairil was there and the head slaver wasn't. The squirrel began to consider alternate plans- a different beast posing as a guard, perhaps even a different creature posing as a slave. But she trusted only herself for the job. As for Shairil… well, the weasel fem was the best one for that part of the mission. She only wished she could be sure that the ex-slaver was trustworthy!  
  
Meanwhile, life on the lash was wearing Riala down physically. She almost regretted the fact that she had come to the pit as physically fit as she was- some extra fat would have helped her through this period as a slave. Fortunately, Kerno's minions treated the slaves decently, considering the fact that they were slaves. They were fed well and not beaten excessively, for a slave in poor condition would not sell. As much as Riala tried, however, she couldn't dampen her anger and indignation at the low-handed treatment enough for it not to be noticed. She gained several new scars on her already whip-scarred back and shoulders.  
  
Yet what took the heaviest toll on the golden-tailed squirrel was the purely menial nature of the work. Carting rocks and rubble from one pile to another, day after day, was both insult and torture. There was no purpose in what she did, and it required no thought whatsoever. Boredom wore more on her restless spirit than the gloomy atmosphere of despair in the damp, subterranean air.  
  
The highlight of each day, the one bright spot in an endless stretch of night, was when Hope played her little pendant ocarina. Only then could the trials of the day be forgotten, the despair and depression lifted for a brief moment. And yet, listenin to the clear, soaring voice of the little instrument never failed to make Riala uncomfortable, wary of the power it held over her spirit.  
  
A low, soft series of cautionary notes sounded in Riala's tufted ears, and she turned quickly to see Hope, sitting calmly behind her. Somehow the field mouse had crept up to the squirrel without attracting notice- an admirable feat. "Hello," she greeted the mouse child.  
  
Brown-black eyes observed her intently, and then Hope let her pendant fall from her paw, resting on the cord about her neck. "Ye be leaving, soon." Her voice was soft, oddly accented, the words archaic.  
  
The squirrel jerked with startled surprise. "You talk!?"  
  
A nod, quick and fleeting. "Music be a clearer voice," she said. "Words do bring confusion and strife, yet words be the only way to say some things."  
  
"Things?" Riala echoed. "Such as?"  
  
"Ye'll be leaving soon, truth?" It was more a statement than a question, knowing and certain.  
  
"Aye, but how did you-"  
  
Hope ignored her half-spoken question of confused realization. "I do hope ye have friends who shall lay siege to the walls ye have built about thineself," she murmured. "Else ye shall be naught but one of these- thine soul dead, replaced only by hate and anger and bloodlust."  
  
Riala shivered at the calm, clear voice of the little mouse that spoke the dire prediction in a very matter-of-fact manner. "That's… doubtful," she said unconvincingly. "Merely being cautious about who I trust can't possibly…"  
  
"Ye see now what I mean about words, do ye not?" Hope interrupted with a sad smile. "Ye say cautious, yet that be not adequate to describe thine withdrawal from all emotion save anger. A flame shut away from the air shall sputter and die. Thine is flickering now, and will soon be extinguished. Only the walls shall exist."  
  
The squirrel looked away, gold-brown eyes shadowed. Her voice was cold when she finally spoke again. "So say you," she told the mouse, not meeting that soul-piercing gaze. "But I've never shied from danger before, and I don't even see danger here."  
  
The mouselet played a short, dark tune, angry and frustrated. "Aye, ye've never run from danger!" The harshness in her soft voice was startling, seemingly alien in one who appeared so gentle of spirit. "Ye've always run to it, have ye not? And why? Not to prove thine courage, for ye've proved it many times over. Be it because ye've no wish to live?"  
  
The plain, unsoftened words shook Riala too her core, even more so for the truth they held. But something did not quite ring true, even so… "No," she said finally, still uncertain. "I don't think that's right…"  
  
"Nay?" Hope watched her closely, dark eyes narrowed in thought. "Maybe not entirely true, yet ye do feel some truth in mine words."  
  
The squirrel shook her head slowly, denying it, steeling herself against the web of softly voiced words that the mouse child sought o entrap her in. Hope sensed the new resistance and backed off, taking up her ocarina in place of a voice. She played a simple melody of the sun's rising on the aftermath of a battle victorious- grief mingled with exhausted rejoicing. Riala listened silently, feeling that the tune did not deal with her, not directly, not this time. It was the manifestation of a shadow on the gentle mouse's spirit.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked as the melody drew to a close.  
  
Hope shook her head with a sad smile. "Ye will understand within the month," the mouse replied, gazing upwards at the baleful torchlight that rimmed the shadowed pit. "As for now, farewell, and seasons bless."  
  
"What do you…" Riala followed the field mouse's dark gaze to the ring and suddenly saw the reason for Hope's farewell. Illuminated by the light of the torches carried by his guards was the slave king Kerno, and not far away stood Shairil. The whistle blew thrice, and twice more, announcing the arrival of vermin looking to buy slaves.  
  
They were brought up ten at a time for the slave buyer to inspect. Occasionally she would point to one prisoner, haggle with Kerno for a brief time, and then the newly bought slave was led to a miserable, steadily growing group of closely guarded slavebeasts. Riala immediately began to put her plan into motion. She schooled the fire from her gold-brown eyes, making them appear dull and lifeless, let her tail droop, worked up what sounded like a nasty cough.  
  
When it was the squirrel's turn to be inspected, she doubled over with a racking cough that shook her entire frame for ten long seconds. The vulpine slave buyer spared her barely a glance before moving on down the line. Riala's gaze flicked to the guards that watched the slaves to make sure none misbehaved, and then her eyes widened. All but two of the six guards were fortbeasts! Now how did they manage that…?  
  
No time to think, no time to speculate. She collapsed, coughing, falling to her knees and retching convincing dry heaves. One of the guards rapped her on the arm with the butt of his spear, a silent command to get up. Gold-brown eyes lanced upwards, noting dispassionately that he was the ferret who'd reported to her at what seemed an age ago. Then her muscles tightened, tensed, released. She leapt at the ferret, whispering a brief apology as she toppled him over and wrenched away his spear.  
  
The guards were taken by surprise at first, a brief seconds-long space of stunned inaction that Riala took advantage of, racing towards Kerno with all the speed and agility of her kind. When they finally rallied, spurred into action, it was with a chaotic jumble of contradicting orders, the fortbeasts posing as guards working to add to the confusion.  
  
The red-brown squirrel sped onwards, a chestnut blur dodging paws and blades as scarred footpaws carried her inexorably onwards to the weasel Kerno. Hate flared in gold-brown eyes, and she began to let instinct take over her mind, erasing conscious thought, slipping into the red-misted state of battle-mind, of bloodwrath, where action responded to action with impossible, unthinking speed…  
  
No!  
  
Remembering a stars-crossed sparring match with a friend, her first spar since childhood, remembering the slip from friendly practice into battle-mind, into instinct-directed action that did not care the opponent was a friend, remembering only the bloodlust, the drive to defeat, to destroy, to kill… remembering how close she'd come to killing a friend.  
  
And those memories, that hesitation nearly cost the squirrel both life and freedom. Shairil drove her spear at Riala's paws, tripping her up for the barest instant, enough to put her off balance for a crucial second. The rasp of steel hissing from its sheath preceded the flash of a short sword, expertly wielded in the weasel fem's paw. The squirrel leapt backwards, swinging with the spear, unused to wielding a polearm.  
  
Can't lose control! she thought frantically, an unfamiliar sensation turning her cold. Fear… fear of losing what little she had to that savage, unforgiving, unmerciful darkness within her. But she'd never fought any other way than with an all-out, instinctive, unthinking desire to kill. She didn't know how to fight without that mental state… but she didn't dare fall into it! Too dangerous, too easy to kill an ally or an innocent…  
  
She narrowly ducked a side-long slash from Shairil's blade, fumbling with the unwieldy spear, so different from her cord-strung stick… Inspiration struck her, gold-brown eyes darting to the shimmering blade that tipped the long shaft. Perhaps it wasn't her roce, but she could use it in a similar fashion…  
  
She took hold of the butt end of the spear and swung it, spinning into a tight circle, letting the blade fly outwards. More lightweight than her stick, but the blade made up for that, slashing those who were too close. Shairil moved quickly, with a waesel's lithe grace, deflecting the spear just in time as Riala thrust it in Kerno's direction.  
  
"Get clear, chief!" the weasel fem shouted, lashing out with her sword, closing in on the squirrel, inside the spear's reach.  
  
Riala cursed her foolishness for having forgotten about the shortcomings of polearms. She changed her grip to the middle of the spear, holding it like a quarterstaff, twisting to catch Shairil in the midriff. The weasel grunted with the blow but didn't back off, bringing her sword downwards towards Riala's head. The squirrel leapt back, bringing up the spear to block, and the sword lodged deep in the wood. Not hesitating, Riala yanked on the spear, purposely falling to her back and kicking out with both footpaws. Shairil tumbled overhead, jerked into a somersault. The sword came free with an audible snap, that of the spear breaking in half.  
  
The squirrel used the momentum from the abrupt release to push herself to her footpaws, the two halves of the spear in her paws. It was far more manageable now, and to her thinking more effective. One paw hurled what had been the spear butt at Shairil as a distraction, and then she pivoted on one paw, springing for Kerno in a last attempt to kill. But the weasel fem had not been taken too much by surprise. She actually caught the hard-flung wood and threw it, arrow-straight, at Riala. Pain lanced through her as the sharp broken end lodged in her lower arm, throwing off her momentum, causing her to falter. Two quick-thinking guards rushed in and seized her arms, pinning them to her side and sending fresh pain in waves from the injured one. A spear swept her legs out from under her, and she was well and truly caught.  
  
Shairil limped up to the chief slaver, one arm dangling limp at her side. She hadn't caught the lower half of the spear without injury. "You injured, chief?" she asked, teeth gritted past the pain that caused her teeth to clench.  
  
"Not a bit, thanks t'you," Kerno replied, looking her over admiringly. "Y'r a good 'un with th' blade. D'you be new 'ere?"  
  
"Aye," Shairil said, slipping easily into the slang that the other weasel used. "Th' name's Slyreel."  
  
"Y've proved y'self a loyal goodbeast, Slyreel," he told her with a grin. "Oy, Marshpad! Get me new captain a healer!"  
  
Riala smiled grimly for a fleeting instant and then glanced at her two captors. They were intent on the rare scene before them, only partially focused on the squirrel. She'd have to act now, before Kerno got around to punishing his attempted assassin… One footpaw lashed out, tripping a guard, and she wrenched her uninjured arm away from the other guard. She was off in a flash of red-brown fur, ignoring the yells of outrage in her wake. The tunnel was right before her, and she raced into it as arrows clattered at the tunnel mouth.  
  
Down the long main tunnel, turning to a side tunnel, she kept moving, kept running, the labyrinth's stone floors retaining no sign of her passage. Hurrying through the winding hallways and chambers, she reached tunnel nine at last- exhausted, bleeding, half blind with pain, and victorious. The moment her pawsteps and rapid breathing sounded in the darkness, a wild cry rent the air, echoing off the walls.  
  
"You sound very ghostly, Mackbry," Riala commented to the shadows, a tight grin flitting across her face despite herself, "but I'm afraid your voice was wasted. I'm no vermin."  
  
"Riala?" There was the rasp of flint on steel, and a candle sputtered to life, enough light to reveal the face of a hare. He laughed in delighted surprise. "Well by m'fur! It is you! How'd it go?"  
  
"Well enough," the squirrel replied. "Shairil's earned Kerno's trust, and he's made her a captain. We can move at any time- in fact, the sooner the better, because I think these tunnels are going to be infested with vermin searching for my head fairly soon."  
  
"An' that's why y'told all us lurkers t'gather here, right?" The hare grinned, a jovial expression turned grotesque by the distortions of the dancing candle flame.  
  
A paw touched her injured arm from behind, and she couldn't choke back a gasp of startled pain. "Aye, I thought as much!" Riala recognized the voice of Bailey, a fleet otter. "Ye've been injured, mate. Y'won't do anybeast any good wi' out yore arm workin'!"  
  
The squirrel shrugged, then winced as the movement sent fresh waves of pain up from her arm. "But I have to get word to Fort Ruddler…"  
  
"We c'n do that well enough, y'know," Mack chided, not having seen the blood in the dim and unsteady light of the candle flame, but . "Y'll 'ave t'heal first."  
  
"C'mon, matey," Bailey said. "I'll take ya t'the 'ealer."  
  
Riala's wound healed quickly, and she was soon restless in the darkness of the tunnels, tired of waiting and doing nothing but that. Kerno's slave trade would finally be shut down in one last move. Fort Ruddler had the word of impending action and was ready to go. The creatures posing as slaves and guards were as restless as the lurkers, waiting for the command to strike… but first they needed the go-ahead from Shairil.  
  
A low hiss echoed from the opening of tunnel nine, and Riala chittered back, high and unearthly. The signals recognized, both creatures moved towards each other in near silence. "From Shairil," a low voice said, and clothing rustled as the otherbeast stretched forth a paw. Tufted ears twitched at the crinkle of paper, and the squirrel took the note silently. They parted ways without a word, and Riala waited for several long minutes before striking a candle.  
  
The flickering light illuminated the only three words on the small scrap of aged parchment. "Tomorrow. Third shift."  
  
The squirrel nodded grimly, letting the paper catch fire. It blazed brightly for a brief instant and then faded to ash on the shadowed stone floor. The waiting, the planning, the subtle maneuvering was over at last. Now came the time for action.  
  
Rapping on a thick wooden door, sharp and business-like. "Who's there?" Kerno demanded, a paw automatically gripping the hilt of one throwing dagger.  
  
"Slyreel," a familiar voice replied, firm steel sheathed in a low tone.  
  
The weasel chief relaxed, a slow grin taking over his uncomely features. "Aye, you're welcome t'come in an' y'know it. No need t'knock."  
  
The door creaked open, the rusty hinges purposely kept from oil so as to be a warning to the slaver of would-be assassins. His weasel captain stepped in with a warrior's sinewy grace, glancing about the room out of cautionary habit before finally settling on the slaver chief. "An' get a dagger in m'throat 'cos y'don't look before y'throw? I'll knock, thank yew." Slyreel laughed lightly at the idea.  
  
Kerno returned the chuckle with one of his own. "Aye, yer right on that count, Slyreel. What're y'here f'r?"  
  
"It's about th' slaves," the ginger-furred weasel fem said, leaning against a nearby wall. "They…" She paused, glanced quickly at the door, red- brown eyes narrowed sharply.  
  
The slaver chief took no chances, and he had learned to trust his captain's sharp senses. He crept up to the door, dagger in paw, ready to throw it open and kill the one who lurked behind it. But the danger was behind him… A low voice hissed the completion of the sentence in his ear as steel rasped from its sheath. "They're rebelling." He turned as Shairil's short sword drove up under his ribs, through his lungs, to his heart… but he had enough seconds left of life to plunge his dagger into her chest.  
  
Riala watched from the natural peephole in Kerno's bedroom wall, grim and silent at the grisly scene. The first casualty of the battle to free the slaves had just been taken. "We'll meet again in Dark Forest, Shairil," she murmured, a grim farewell. She turned to join the battle as the whistle blew for the change of guard and the first death cries rent the air of the slaver base.  
  
It was chaos, pure and unadorned chaos. Guards turned to their fellows and drove blades into their hearts, an abrupt end to a casual conversation. Warriors appeared from the shadowed tunnels and slashed unwary throats. Slavebeasts produced hidden weapons and attacked their overseers with a vengeance. And then the earth-shattering warcries of two score fortbeasts rent the air, forty warriors flooding into the passages from the upper world, overwhelming the surprised slavers.  
  
Riala fought systematically, reflexes slowed by her refusal to let her instincts take control. Wounds hampered her fighting, slowed her reactions, left her vulnerable. She blocked a downward slice with her blade-scarred roce, the thick hardwood gaining another notch before she slashed the foebeast's throat with her dagger. She saw the spear lancing in too late, adding yet another stain of blood to her tunic, growing more encumbered by pain with every added wound. But she wouldn't give in to the bloodwrath that reddened the edges of her vision and nibbled at her mind, demanding control.  
  
She fought two battles at once, one within and one without, her consciousness steadily declining, her progress through the mass of slavers a blur in a pain-fogged mind. It wasn't until she was staring into an intense dark gaze that she realize she'd reached the quarry, that Hope was sheltering there… and then time stopped as a bow twanged, the sound ringing in the air, the only sound in Riala's ears. Deadly, prophetic, a harbinger of death. The arrow seemed to hang in the air, pointing to the gold-tailed squirrel… but Hope was between the arrow and Riala.  
  
Time resumed its normal course, Riala's perceptions snapping to normal, the arrow speeding to a nearly imperceptible blur until it struck the field mouse with a sickening thud. And then the squirrel had reached Hope's side, mind frozen, heart frozen, unable to think or realize what had happened…  
  
The mouse child pressed her ocarina into Riala's paw. Somehow she'd taken it off, somehow she was still alive. "Let it… help you… live…" she spoke, struggling past the pain, voice so soft as to be almost inaudible over the battle's din. "Don't hide… anymore…"  
  
Breath hissing from a broken throat, knowing gaze turned blank with death, life gone, soul gone… Riala slipped the ocarina over her head with something akin to reverence, a gentle gesture, not speaking, eyes dry. Bloodwrath clamored at the battered walls she held up against it. She rose, one paw gripping her roce, the other tight on her dagger… and then she let her instincts consume her.  
  
It was over.  
  
Blood stained the smooth stone tunnels, that of slavers and slaves and fortbeasts. Bodies littered the ground, cast into grotesque shadow by the flickering light of the last stubborn torches. Wounded and exhausted fighters leaned against walls, collapsed on the ground, stood with fatigue written across bloodstained faces. Riala fell to her knees, the driving force of bloodwrath finally subsiding, letting exhaustion and pain flood in to assuage her numbed mind. She buried her face in her bloodstained paws, memory winding its merciless way through her mind of the victory's terrible cost. Then her ears pricked, her head lifted, her eyes probed the shadows, her paw closed gently on the ocarina pendant about her neck.  
  
It may have been only her imagination, only a trick of the flickering torchlight, but she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of wise dark eyes gazing at her from the shadows. And in the air hovered the echo of a melody, aching grief for the loss of life mingled with the exhausted rejoicing of a battle victorious, always in the shadows of despair lingering a note of ever-present, undying hope. 


	7. Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds

_A/N: These are actually two different roleplaying threads from Fort Ruddler's boards, although both took place at the Platoon 4 grounds. The first one, _At the Flagpole, _was unfinished. I included it here mainly to show that the platoons have gotten their own individual grounds, and that Riala has been made commander of Platoon 4 - even if she doesn't like it. The second thread, _Near the Barracks, _contains actual character development for Riala. In both of these threads, I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. The part of Teltoli was written by his roleplayer._

**Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds - At the Flagpole**

The hare walks into the soft dirt main grounds of the platoons. He looks about and spots a flag waving in the slight breeze. Walking nearer to it, he sees that there is a large "4" embroidered into the fabric. He lifts his beret and scratches his head fur with a pensive paw. "I say! Jolly well spiffen, we have our own platoon area now wot! Wonder if'n there's any othah platoon four members round er'?" The hare shades his eyes with a paw, scanning the area for others from his platoon* 

A golden-tailed squirrel trudges in, a scowl on her scarred features, very obviously _not_ wearing a uniform nor rank insignia of any sort. Rather, Riala is garbed in her usual mottled forest green-and-brown tunic, equipped with her roce and dagger, and looking very disgruntled. She glares up at the Platoon 4 flag resentfully, none too happy with how matters stand at the moment. One red-brown paw grips the pouch hanging from her belt with angry tenseness. However, her irritation is just that- annoyance, sullenness, grouchiness- not the deep fury that is so much a part of her.

The gate of the picket fence surrounding the barracks area creaks open, and Ariel glances around to see if Riala is in the area. At the sight of the squirrel, the fleet commander enters the grounds. Riala's expression is hardly one of joy, but no one can be happy all the time, least of all when things need to be done. She nods politely to both her and Teltoli before explaining what needs to be done. "Glad I found you here... I have something I need you t'do for me. Since you've recently been placed in charge of this Platoon, I'd like you t'come to a decision on a nickname for your group, with their input o'course. I'll give you a week to make your choice, and after that the name'll be permanent. This Platoon's previous nickname was Jadewarrior, I believe... if you needed an example. Does that sound like a reasonable request, Riala?" 

The squirrel's visage darkens as Ariel mentions the fact that she's become the commander of the platoon, although she doesn't speak- not audibly, anyway. She mutters something about never having _asked_ to be leader of anything, but she doesn't give her complaint voice, subvocalizing silently, too quiet for even an otter or hare's ears. Riala listens to the otter's request silently, finally nodding. "Reasonable enough," she says with a shrug. "Tel's the only platoonbeast here so far, though. It actually _might_ take the full week." A wry grin, fleeting and humorless, passes over her scarred face. 

She watches Riala's expression as it darkenes slightly. She has, perhaps, an idea of the source, but discussing it in this type of situation certainly wouldn't do any good. "Aye, perhaps it won't. Thank you anyway, though, and I'll check back with you in a week." She nods to both of them, and turned and left. 

Riala watches Ariel go, gold-brown eyes half-lidded, and then she turns to Teltoli. "Well!" she said finally, glaring up once again at the platoon pennant. "What do we name this little group?" 

The hare watches the fleet commander leave with his sparkling dark brown eyes. Turning to Riala he grins slightly and cocks his head to the side. "Think o a jolly ol names the ticket, eh wot! Well then, let's get cracking." Tel twiddles his ears for a few moments and begins to say the names that come to his mind. "Hmmmm...well how bout 'Highland Patrol'...or mayhap 'Shadowblade Corp.' I like both o those...whot else... 'Hawkeye'... 'Dunehunter'..." 

Riala nods at the suggestions, leaning back against a stone wall and tossing out ideas of her own. "Windrunner... Iceblade... Eh, I'm not very good at thinking these up. I think I like Highland Patrol though." 

Teltoli grins as he leans back and continues to think. "I like Highland Patrol too... let's see... 'Windblade'..." He chuckles as he realizes he'd just used half of each of Riala's suggestions. "Um...let's see..."

* * *

**Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds - Near the Barracks**

Tel walks slowly across the dusty grounds of Ruddler, making his way towards his favorite place to sit. The porch outside of his barracks always has the warmest sunlight for this time of day. Tel shields his eyes with his uninjured paw and looks towards his home at Ruddler. The deep brown wooden barracks look almost pinkish in the warm afternoon light. "Oh, I say, could use a little rest time eh wot..." he mumbles to himself and shifts the small sack on his shoulder slightly as he walks. Upon reaching the porch, the hare takes a seat on the steps, resting his back against one of the posts used to hold up the wide shingled awning in front of the barracks. Tel's bright eyes reflect tiny golden dust motes as he takes the sack off his shoulder. Removing his weapons from their places in his wide belt, he places his dirk and dagger to his right side, and begins to fish around in the sack. Coming up with a small vile, a thin roll of white material, and a small bag with leaves in it, he sets to work on his injuries.   
  
"Bally ol Rook, cut me up n' no mistake. All right Riverbuck let's get this taken care of shall we..." He grimaces as he pours a small amount of disinfectant from the vile to his paw fingers. Earlier the wounds had been bleeding steadily, but after some pressure they bleed only slightly, from a deep gash by Rook's dagger, reaching the bone. After cleansing the wounds, he presses a dock leaf or two up against his paw and uses his other paw and teeth to wrap the material tightly around the injured area. Tying the bandage off he closes his eyes as the pain subsides. "Ah, that's bettah wot!" Eventually he takes care of the more minor wounds, cleans his weapons to a shine, and leans back on the post, letting the warm sunlight relax his tired body.

Riala had been working in a new cord for her roce when Teltoli came in. She'd always preferred to make her own cord, as that's whad she'd had to do when on her own, and she saw no reason to change her habits merely for convenience. It had been somewhat difficult to find nettles this far north, but they were available, and the squirrel had gathered up several of them. She'd soaked them in water to soften the sharp, mildly toxic nettles, then crushed them with rocks until the inner flesh had been forced out. Now she was working on the final stage, braiding the nettles together in a tight, continuous cord. Her gold-brown gaze flicks upwards briefly from her task when the hare walks in, then returned to the growing cord. "Who won?" she asks offhand, the attempt to begin a conversation rare coming from the mostly withdrawn squirrel.

The hare took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he drifted off towards slumber. Being unaware of the fact that other beasts were around he mumbles to himself, in a voice laden with fatigue:   
  
_"Far 'cross the Eastern plains   
Where the purple heathers grow   
Down by the sunlite banks   
Is a place I love to know   
  
The Riverbuck camp, a happy place   
Where hares afar call home   
Sometime me footpaws twill take me there   
No longer will the warrior roam..."_   
  
Tel had been unaware that Riala was in the barracks. Most beasts were elsewhere in the fort this time of day, part of the reason Tel enjoyed retreating to this spot. Still he smiled slightly as he heard his friend's voice, he liked talking with the usually withdraw squirrel. He spoke in a far away voice, not turning his head to face Riala, "Well, tis hard teh say really...don't spar tah win yah know wot...I'd say twas pretty much a bally ol stalemate. Rook's a top hole dagger beast really, think we both gave each otha a run fer our acorns wot!" 

After speaking Tel chastises himself inwardly. He hoped the thing he said about "not sparring to win" did not offend his friend. He had not meant anything by it of course. Now that he was no longer in such a drowsy state the hare decided to change the subject quickly. "So me gel, whot have you been up to this fine day wot?'

The squirrel continues to braid her new roce cord as Teltoli talks, shadowed gold-brown eyes thoughtful. When he asks her what she's been doing, she holds up the steadily lengthening nettle cord. "New cord for my roce," she explains, nodding towards the short, thick stick lying beside her. "The old one's getting a bit frayed."   
  
Riala falls silent as she looks out on the parade grounds, the rare expression of uncertainty on her scarred features showcasing an internal battle within. The silence stretches on, broken only by the almost inaudible swishing of fur against cloth as her paws continue to braid. "Teltoli, about that sparring match last season..." She trails off, not entirely sure what she wants to say, nor if she truly wishes to speak it. 

Tel leans back slowly, bracing his back against the wooden post. He crosses one of his legs over the other, dangling one leather wrapped footpaw up in the air. He bounces it slowly up and down, watching the sky grow pink in the coming evening. He listens intently to Riala speak about her roce's new cord. As she speaks Tel leans to the side and picks up his dagger. he feels the keen edge of his weapon with his uninjured paw and, raising the blade to his eye level, sights along it to the other side of the porch. He lowers it as he hears his friend bring up the spar they had some time before. 

"Ah yes, our spar last season..." Tel speaks lightly, sighing contentedly as he finishes. He does not wish to pressure his friend into talking about it if she is not ready to. However, his right ear twitches instinctively towards a thin scar from a roce that now traces it's way from above his right eye to the side of his head, one of a few battle scars the hare sports.

Riala ties off the cord and begins tying it to a notch in her roce, paws moving slowly, haltingly, as she forces the words out. "I told myself... after that... that I wouldn't... wouldn't let my instincts take over like that... not again. But..." The uncertainty in the typically harsh voice, in the gold-brown eyes, is uncharacteristic for the red-brown squirrel. Then again, she hasn't really been herself for the past season... not since that fateful spar, not since her mission in the underground slave camp. She's told nobeast the details of her time in those dark tunnels, said only what was necessary in the report of her mission - only the tactics and the roles of certain creatures and the battle's cost. Nobeast knows precisely what transpired in the slave pit, where she'd posed as a slave. But it's impossible not to know that _something_ had happened, for there'd been a change in Riala... She's been more troubled, more unsure, and she frequently grips the clay ocarina that hung about her neck.   
  
This she does now, almost unconsciously, one scarred red-brown paw clenched about the russet clay. "Underground, in tha mission... during th' battle... I couldn't fight without letting mae instincts take control." Her northern accent becomes the slightest bit more noticeable, betraying the difficulty she had in speaking these words. "I'd had tae fight two battles at once... inside an' out. It nearly killed mae... almost let others get killed because... I was too scared tae lose control an' fight th' only way I ken how."   
  
She takes a deep breath, realizes she's clutching the little pendant ocarina, lets it fall to rest on the mottled forest-shaded tunic. When she resumes speaking, she has regained enough control over her emotions to lessen the strength of her accent. "I need to learn to fight without being controlled only by my instincts... without the bloodwrath. That means I need to spar, to practice, but... I can't use bladed weapons. There's too much of a chance of somebeast getting hurt- badly hurt. I'd have to use wooden ones, a wood substitute for my dagger... Whenever you're recovered- in a week's time, more, whichever- do you think... do you think you'd be able to spar with me? If you don't, that's fine," she adds hastily. "I'd understand, after last time..."

The hare's eyes close slowly as he listens to his friend, not because he was tired but trying to understand the battle Riala must be going through. Though he has been in many battles near his home and abroad, the hare has always remained in control of himself, never suffered such a thing as the blood wrath. He feels the need to help his friend even though he cannot understand the depth of Riala's turmoil. He nods slowly as she finishes speaking. Tel knows it's hard for Riala to talk about such matters, and he notes the northern accent in her voice as a sign of this. Tracing his paw down his scar he speaks in a kind voice. "Ah Riala, I've jolly well been waitin fer yah teh ask me teh spar with yah. Twould be an honor teh be sure." The hare pauses in thought for a moment before continuing. "I know, it has been a long hard road fer yah matie. Jest know that I'm here fer yah whenevah yah need me..."   
  
Tel suddenly decides to lighten the mood, knowing that Riala usually does not like to have such long conversations. His jovial tone returns and a smile spreads across his features. "What's a fellow platoon 4 beast fer anyhoo wot! Bet twill take less than a week fer this ol hare teh heal." Feeling a bit tired the hare yawns and stretches a bit painfully, contradicting his last statement. He pushes himself up off the beam he had been leaning against and squints into the dying sunlight. Standing slowly he gathers his things. "I think it's bout time fer me tah turn in eh wot! I'll bid yah a good eve tide my friend. I'll be lookin forward teh our spar wot!"

Riala nods slowly as the hare rises. "Good night, Teltoli... and thank you," she adds in an uncharacteristically soft voice, gazing into the distance, though whether at the snow-capped mountains on the horizon or at some vivid memory, it's hard to tell.


	8. Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds - Missi...

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a huge IC mission roleplayed out by many different players.  It gets somewhat confusing at times, due to the large amount of characters, but hopefully is still followable. I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. _

**Wayside Patrol – Platoon 4 Grounds – Mission Sign-Up**

Anybeast walking into the Platoon 4 grounds will find a wiry squirrel sitting on the steps of the barracks, leaning against a corner post and idly sharpening a well-used dagger. Her rust-gold tail, as scarred as the rest of her red-brown hide, flicks from side to side restlessly as she continues to scrape the whetstone along the gleaming length of the plain, serviceable weapon. A sheath of papers and an inkwell lies on the steps beside her, ignored as of yet.

"Well now, been quite some time since I seen yer ol' face, Riala m'gel. Now what of this bally mission yer settin' t'go out on?" 

Another creature joins the marred squirrel, the features and attitude of the older gray hare marking him as none other than Mackbry Taffellappen. Absentmindedly pawing at the short dirk sheathed at his side, Mack stoops down and sweeps up one of the pieces of parchment. However, he takes from his tunic his own quill and ink, the quill matted and frayed, but somehow still holding its own. 

"Mind if'n I join you on this little excursion, m'gel?"

An otter walks up and looks at what Mack was writing.  "When isa this gonna be?" Tann asks curiously.

Riala glances up and nods in silent greeting when Mack and Tann walk in, then resumes honing her dagger as she speaks, answering Tann's question first. "The mission's supposed to start nine days from now… we'll be making preparations for it before hand," the squirrel says, then turns to Mack. "Didn't you read the notice about the mission? We're a trial patrol preparing for future patrols that might follow if this one works out. We're supposed to set up waystations for later patrols while running our own patrol circuit - helping out anybeast who needs it, you know."

Another creature, an otter, comes over toward the sign in spot. She is chocolate colored, and neither tall nor short, heavy or slim. Lupin, for that is her name, sports a blue tunic and navy pants, and a sabre is thrust through the sash that seves her as a belt. She seems to recognize Mack and Tann, though not the squirrel who appears to be leading the mission.  "Er....Lupin Slipstream o' the Wavearrow ma'am. I was just wonderin' if ye'd let me come on your mission that I hear is leaving soon. I'd greatly appreciate it if I could."

A blonde furred otter strolls up to the female squirrel, gives her a little nod and tips her paw to her. "Aye there, I be Brook Briar, I hear that there is a trial patrol going out O' here soon. After them pesky vermin r' we? If 'in there is still time I'd love ta' give ya' a hand in it matey. This here is Kalen, he would be with me. He is learnin' ta' be a healer and he might come in handy out there. Plus it would do the lad some good, gettin' experience and all. Aye he's a bit young but me believes that he can hold his own."

Brooke tugs at her dagger that is hidden under her long, flowing, deep purple skirt and tries to adjust it so that it is comfortable to her. Glancing around at the other beasts that were there to sign up she gives them a little wink and intoduces herself and Kalen. She met Tann and Lupin before but she had never met the older Hare. Again she looks at the squirrel and waits for her to introduce herself. But while she waits she grabs up the parchment and signs it: Brooke Briar and Kalen Rune.

The silence of the woodland morning is broken by the soft sound of treading footpaws. Long shafts of the sun's golden rays illuminate the back of a lone silent figure.  A tall black shadow is cast upon the earthen floor, and the figure moves closer and closer to the small group of beasts beginning to grow like the buds of flowers beginning to bloom.  The creature's species is unrecognizable, a ragged grey cloak shrouds the figure. The hood is up, and it shadows the face, and all distinct features.. 

_...small group of beasts now, soon to grow. I have no real knowledge of any of them, their ways, and speak, how they treat the unknown. Are they wise or foolish, strong or weak? Do they know their enemy, do they know themselves?..._

The beast looks almost hesitantly around at the group now staring at it. Two ebony paws reach out beyond the old burlap, and pull back the hood to reveal a male fox.  His eyes are piercing as if they could see the soul. Sea-green on the outside, while bright orange around the center. They have a strange haze over them as if they had seen too much, too much to bare. His face is covered in silver scars, and three black lines almost invisible etch their way across his face. The fur is red, redder than that of any other fox, or anybeast. The face itself has a good-natured shape of one who would be afraid to fight, and would cringe and hide.  

At last he speaks to the creatures around him, his voice scarce above a whisper, but audible to all.  "I am Sergeant Kuja, I am here to join your patrol." Having said his piece, the fox replaces his hood, stands alone in his own shadowy realm. His mind is on other things, the strength of his group. 

_...The squirrel is obviously the leader, a true warrior, but yet she must not forget who she is fighting against. The hare is wise, he shows his wisdom. He may be old, but I am too, and many know that with age, with age comes wisdom. They are true leaders, and they know their enemy well. The two otters, they are young, and I cannot tell whether they are wise or foolish, time can only tell. With time, they will grow in strength not in the body, but in the mind..._

Mack looks up as the two new otters and a mysterious fox arrived, he had never seen any of them before, a strange event for him. The older gray hare briefly sets aside his quill and inkwell as he makes an elegant leg towards Brooke and Kalen.  "Major Gen'ral Mackbry Taffellappen, Gatekeeper of Ruddler, at yer service, marm! Although, tis jest Mack t'most, eh wot?" 

He finishes up his sign-in sheet quickly and handed it to Riala, his sketchy handwriting showing this:   
  
_Mackbry Taffellappen __  
Major General   
Infantry Division, Platoon 1_   
  


That done, he finally turns his attention to the mysterious fox whose face he had never seen. Mack, with a welcoming smile and a curt nod of his head, extends a friendly paw towards the fox.  "Well, as y'heard, name's Mack. An' who be yer good self, sah?"

An otter named Streamrose walks in. "C'n I come? I have had lots of patrol duty at home, and i would love to do it here." She comes closer to Riala. "D'ya think I can?"

The fox is jerked from his own world by the voice of the older one. His black paws once again drift to his cloak removing the hood.  His strange eyes stare at the hare piercingly as he grips the hare's paw. The grip is not tight of one who is trying to prove strength, neither limply of one who is weak. He places his other paw upon the elder's paw as a symbol of admiration. 

_...He is wise, and strong. Woe be to the foebeast who tries to fight the warrior, yet the warrior's heart must also be merciful...._

At last the red fox speaks, but this time with more confidence, and this time with more purpose. His long rolling speech sails on the winds like last autumn's dried leaves.  "Charmed Mackbry. I am Kuja Redbrush, but you can call me Kuja, or even Kuj if you wish."  He withdraws his ebony paws, and holds them beneath the cloak. The wind takes its course through the fort's main grounds playfully tugging at the fox's cloak revealing his dagger tucked into his black leather belt. 

The aged fox closes his piercing eyes, letting the cool breezes carry him back into the past. The sounds of song birds gracefully fluttering from tree to tree to play their harmonious music of trills and chirps brought him back to reality, back to what was, and what would happen. 

_...The group has grown. There is a young otter, just older than a kit, yet he shows more wisdom, and more maturity than many beasts that I have known in my life. The new female, Brooke I heard was her name, she must always be there to guide the young one, to teach him about what he needs to know, and learn in age, and when he should be on his own..._

His eyes settle upon the newcomer, and he strides over to Streamrose. Being taller than the younger otter, he lays a paw upon her shoulder almost fatherly. He speaks to her.  "Young one, you may be though of as young and foolish, but your heart is strong and bold. One day, you will be seen not as foolish, but as a leader of many."

Streamrose bites her lip. "I know I sounded overexcited and young then, and I am. Still, your words are true. A seer said the same things over me as a babe. Thank you. And on a more recent subject, there still lies the question: May I come?"

Rook's mood, though never entirely pleasant, is what could be considered mild as he enters the Infantry grounds. It sours as soon as he sees the fox, drawing the bitter taste of bile into the back of his throat which the otter hurriedly forces down his stinging gullet. His lips draw themselves into a vicious sneer, and as though by their own will, his legs bring him back a step while the fur on his calves begins to bristle, mirroring the quills of an angered hedgepig. 

A piece of the past, shattered like glass held in it a fox, one who carried flame in his paw and dealt the scarring wounds of hellfire to those with no possible hope of resisting. Rook could have killed him then, could have easily slid each of his blades from where they slept and given them the smooth taste of blood with several deft, precise movements. He stays as he was though, his cerulean eyes locked with the figure of Kuja as his breath rolls heavy, pierced by anxiety.

"F-fox...what's a f-f-ox doing here?"

"Ah, well, good t'have y'aboard, m'lad. I trust-" Mack stops as Rook entered the area, a look pointed in Kuja's direction that would have soured milk and wilted flowers. Concern etching itself upon the older hare's face, he moves slowly towards Rook, reaching a paw out to comfort the anxious otter. 

"Now, Rook m'boyo, calm yerself down. Tis a beast of the fort an' has a right t'be treated with respect. Not even I know what you've against foxes, or at least this one, but keep a level head about yerself afore you go makin' any decisions, eh wot?"

Rook wants no comfort from anybeast, and he makes this point clear by tearing away from the aged hare's paw, his voice shaking like the legs of a newborn about to take it's first cautious step. His attempts at boldness are also ill-disguised, and the otter feels vulnerable and uneasy in his own skin. "He's no friend of m-mine, Mackbry... none...."

Tann  winces as Rook pushes away Mack's paw. How could he do that to him?  He walks up to Rook and says urgently," Stoppit, 'tis no way ta treat a friend. Stoppit ah, say!" He then proceeds to Mack and says," Ah'm shore he didn't mean it, matey."

"Oh, he does laddie buck, he fully well means it, y'don't know him like I do. Tis his nature, an' frankly anybeast pushin' him around tain't a likely thing, but here goes."  Mack puffs out his chest and heads for Rook. Inwardly he chastises himself, he knows full well Rook did not take sympathy from anybeast, even friends. A new approach was needed if this patrol was going to survive past the walls of Fort Ruddler. 

Pushing the brim of his cap down so that it shadowes his eyes in a very officer-like way, Mack steps in front of Rook and crosses his arms. "All right Rook, tisn't sympathy you'll get then. Jest consider this: If'n you come alone on this patrol an' start creatin' a ruckus, twill be disobeyin' orders. So shape up, m'boyo!" The military tone seems an unusual thing for the normally jovial hare, but he had not earned his rank for nothing and Rook was no ordinary creature either; not that Mack wishes him to be ordinary. But proud creatures could be difficult to deal with; although inwardly Mack smiles at the thought.

A loathing of the situation clouds Rook's better judgement, and the white hot sea that was his temper begins to boil and seep past it's boundaries. Also, Rook feels as though Mack is inclined towards the side of his enemy, the fox. This brings him towards Mackbry, so close in fact that their muzzles nearly touch as the enraged otter speaks, his voice like steel on a carving block.  "No trouble… but if he sets foot near me or so much as glances in my direction with an air of any discernable emotion, I'll gut him so help me Mackbry Taffellappen. On my family's forgotten name, I'll slit him open and turn him inside out."

"Fair enough." No longer does Mack seem angry; anger often tired him and he was not inclined to switch to it to prove a point very often. However, he does point a warning paw at Kuja, not harshly, but simply as a warning. "An' you'd do well t'listen to what Rook here is sayin'. There'll be no bloodshed of our own creatures on this mission if it can be helped, especially by one of Fort Ruddler's own soldiers. Best t'jest go along an' not look at each other." 

With that said, the older hare pushes his cap farther up his head once more. Timidly he tries to put a comforting paw around Rook's shoulder, although he expects it to be pushed away. Mack lowers his voice as he speaks so as to let none but Rook hear his words. "Rook, don't take it personally. Tis of top priorty t'keep order. I'll make sure Kuja leaves you alone, jest don't go lookin' fer reasons t'hurt him, eh wot?"

Streamrose sits on a nearby stump to await an answer from Riala, her mind roving back to her childhood after Kuja's words. Yes, she had seemed like her old little self there a moment ago, hadn't she? She is jarred to her senses by Tann's voice. "Wha- what's going on!?" she asks, surprised at Rook's actions. Mackbry's voice breaks her new thoughts. _I suppose all is well with Rook's bad temper,_ she thinks. She dares to look in their direction, pleased to see that Rook had stopped fighting. 

She sits back and thinks for a moment. Sometimes, she was the strong warrior otter of her future and near present, other times she was no more than a lost otterbabe, and figure from her past. Why all these emotions now!

Kalen looks around, feeling very 'grown-up' in the presence of all these grand creatures. He adjusts his new tunic and healers bag, and tries to make himself especially presentable.  He sees Kuja eyeing him, **sizing me up,** he thinks. So he goes over to Kuja first and offers him his young but strong paw. "A pleasure to meet you sir! Boatswain Kalen Rune at your service."

Riala watches the newcomers silently, observing the interactions between the various warriors of the steadily growing group. To those who ask to join the mission, she nods and gestures towards the sheaf of papers alongside a quill and inkwell. "We'll need all the help we can get," she says, and returns to watching the otherbeasts.

The red-brown squirrel begins to feel the first few twinges of apprehension as one of the otters encounters the fox. What was she getting herself in to? She's not good at calming raised hackles, she's inexperienced at any semblance of diplomacy... Her gradually tensing muscles slowly unclench as Mackbry steps in, doing his level best to sooth already frayed tempers. A good thing the hare was coming along; he was far better with otherbeasts than she. 

Gold-brown eyes shift to the hooded, silent fox, studying him carefully. A few seasons ago, she'd have reacted to his presence the same way as the otter- still would, if he were a wolverine rather than a fox. But she's had vulpine friends before, learned that not all were to be hated. Wolverines, on the other paw... Her eyes narrow minutely at the thought, but she pushes it from her mind. No good thinking about that; it would just make her temper shorter, her mood darker than normal. And tempers were bad enough as it was. 

Riala glances down at her dagger, forgotten in one scarred paw where she'd been honing it. She sheaths it at her side and slips the whetstone into her belt pouch. Her steady gaze returns to the ever-growing groupe, taking a silent tally. Help Mack with the otter? No, he seemed to have that under control, and her presence would just complicate things, especially as she didn't know the creature. Talk to the fox? Gold-brown eyes flicker to the angry otter and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly, negating the idea. Better save that for latter, on the trail - no need to inadvertently alienate the otter. A good thing the tod seemed a levelheaded beast; a more temperamental creature would have reacted harshly to the otter's hatred. 

Speak with anotherbeast, then. Learn what special skills each has, think of where to place them along the trail, figure out shifts for sentry duty... Seasons! Riala shakes her head in ironic amusement. She was starting to sound like an officer. Now _that_ was a frightening thought!

The male fox gratefully accepts the younger otter's paw. He looks at it for a moment, so small in his own large one. He again places his other paw on top, and kneels down on the damp grass so to be the same height as Kalen.  _...I see now, that there is more strength in his small paw than I have seen in many warriors in my long lifetime..._

"A pleasure to meet you Kalen, as you may have heard, I am Kuja." 

 The red fox stands up from the grass and takes a sideways glance at the male otter, the one who hated him so well. He turns away, shaking his head almost mournfully.  _...It's a shame to hate one so much, for hate does eat the soul away, and all goodness held within... _

Turning to Mackbry, he slowly speaks, but his voice rings like the blacksmith's hammer ringing steel. "Then, I shall stay away from him." 

His voice then takes a slightly louder tone as he calls out to Rook. "I never slew your family Rook, nor would I ever intend to do harm you or anybeast here, but let us be away from each other, if...if that is your wish."

Mack's promise of separation serves well to slake Rook's anger as well as his fears, though hate still flows freely with the heated blood in his constricting veins. Also, a growing sense of shame begins to wander through him as he realizes his outburst has drawn a dozen eyes to his cause. Head dipped low, he leans into Mack's comforting hold, his voice coming wearily and from under the breath. "You're guilty by birth fox, so my animosity is nothing personal. I was made to hate you the very minute your kind and the rest of them set paw upon our beach called home. Deal with it and heed the hare's words if you value your innards."

Brooke watches as Koja's cold eyes rove up and down Kalen. Inconspicuously she pulls Kalen even closer to her body. It's hard for her to trust a beast that seems to be inspecting things and is so openly giving himself so much credit. Honor and wisdom has to be proven to Brooke not by words but by actions, so until that happens it is just a bunch of hot air to her. 

Kalen then pulls away from Brooke's grip and suddenly she feels a little panic stricken for his safety. She can feel her blonde hair stand on end as she watches Kalen walk over to the male fox. But Brooke is careful to restrain herself so she does not set off any unwanted emotions with the others beasts since there is already tension in the air. She wants to run and scoop him up but she does not. 

Brooke glances over in Rook's direction as she stands there, almost helpless. She does not say a word but waits for Kalen to be back in the embrace of her arms.

From the shadows, a black otter steps into the area where the crowd of Fort Ruddler beasts is gathering. She had been unnoticed in the shadows, where she had been the whole time. Now she looks around, trying not to smile. She giggles with glee as she sneaks up behind Brooke.

"I say... BOO!" 

She watches Brooke jump in surprise and almost falls over laughing. She dares not look at Brooke's stern gaze, knowing she wouldn't be able to contain her. She grins mischievously and places her paws on her hips. She notices the tension still lingered in the air, so she keeps her quiet. Without saying another word to Brooke, or anyone else, she picks up a sheet of paper and proceeds to sign her name.

A young male squirrel appears from around a corner, his head and ears perk up a bit as he spots Platoon four's barracks.  He is a surprisingly muscular, but otherwise medium built adolescent male squirrel. His red fur fades into a dark brown strip that runs down his back and onto his tail. Two strange black markings appear in his coat. One, covers the last quarter of his tail all the way to the tip, and the other is an upside-down bell shaped patch between his, dark brown, eyes that runs to the end of his nose. He wears a light brown tunic, with a matching brown belt, under which he wears a forest green cloak. A sling and pouch with stones dangle from the left side of his belt while his dirk is sheathed on the right. 

He heads towards the stairs of the barracks keeping an eye out for the female red squirrel that he was told was in charge. Nervously, he glances around at the others already gathered. Something felt off, but not knowing the cause, he lowered his head and speed up as he made his way around the crowd, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Spotting the red squirrel, he makes his way to her and introduces himself. 

"You're Riala Goldentail correct? I'm Cinder Elmcreek. Ariel mentioned that your looking for volunteers for a Patrol. Anything I can do ta' help?"

Another otter walks into the platoon grounds. "Righty, what's all thins hullabuloo? Eh? Ye wouldn't let a gal know if ye were all going out on a mission or something, would ye? O' course not, so I had tae sniff ye'all out by meself." She salutes smartly to Riala, "Howdy there marm, Pearl C. Stormwind, Fleet admiral aboard the Wildshadow reportin' in to ye. Howdy folks! Better a bit late than never, eh?"

Riala watches the growing tension warily, wiry muscles bunching in preparation for action as the fox hurls aside his dagger and sling. She relaxes only minutely as he takes no hostile action, but his words snatch even that near-imperceptible amount away. Especially that last statement... a truth about herself that she has already begun to realize in these past few seasons. 

_You too have slain, and you in yourself are dangerous to yourself and everyother beast here._

The shock and pain within shows in shadowed gold-brown eyes for only an instant, nothing more than a flicker across a scarred and normally immobile face. The squirrel walls away the emotions, the uncertainty, features impassive once more. No time for emotion, for indecision, not now- not when she had to lead an already-difficult group across the Northlands for seasons knew how long. 

Riala barely hears Cinder's question and Pearl's statement, too intent on the scene before her, but manages to give him a terse reply. "Sign up there if ye wish tae come along," she tells him, her normally imperceptible northern accent becoming stronger with the shared tension of the grounds. The steel in her gold-brown gaze tells all who are perceptive to notice that she's come to a decision. She rises from her seat at the barracks deck and walks across the grounds, near silent, until she's positioned between the fox and the otter. 

The squirrel's gaze is cold enough to freeze even the otter's boiling temper as she stares hard at each of the creatures in the grounds, especially at the fox and the otter. "We are going tae be with each other for several weeks," she tells them coldly, voice steel-hard. "We'll be workin' taegether, fightin' taegether. If ye canna bring yeself tae be at least peaceful within th' group, then leave now. I'll not have this mission fail because of a mere prejudicial hatred or uncontrolled tempers."

"Only you should be as afraid...." Rook says to the fox before he spits venomously, the taste of salt and copper stinging from where it had seeped between his teeth. So initially taken aback had be been by the figure of Kuja that without even feeling pain, the otter had bitten the inside of his own cheek. His pointed gaze follows the fox who now sought solitude while his own breath slows to near normal. "Good riddance..." are the only words his brain knew, though he'd said enough in the way of scorn, so he dares not let them pass his dry lips. Instead, he looks to Mackbry and questions the fatherly hare, Riala's voice not even registering. "Mackbry, my short rope has gotten the best of me once more. I owe you a thousand apologizes, good friend. Please tell me what I should do. I had come here while entertaining the thought of signing my name to join the quest. Now though, I feel I'd only bring misfortune...."

Suddenly, a nondescript brown-colored otter saunters in, her fur slightly damp from a recent swim someplace. She wears a green jerkin of cotton and loose-fitting forest green pant. At her side is a sabre, which is worn but well used, and on each of her arms is strapped a dagger. She gives a smile to Brooke, Kalen, and Moontouch, then says, "I be hearing bout a patrol here 'bouts. I be a'knowing plenty about these vermin and a decent hand with me sabre and daggers, and have a passin' knowledge of healing and the like. Do ye be needing an extra paw?"  She pauses at the sound of unnerving silence, then, seeing the fox, a flicker of understanding passes across her face. She leans agains a wall and waits...

A sailor by birth Landin Mcgregor was indeed, preferring the open seas to any other method of travel. Despite this he drew his pride from being a creature with an open mind, an open mind for any and all new opportunities. This along with the lack of active purpose among the fleet division to which he pertained drove him to join the recently announced 'Wayside Patrol'.

He padded along in a jovial state of mind, the rhythmic 'pit pat' of his steps seemingly growing louder as he approached the 4th platoon barracks. As he neared the doorway he tapped the floorboard lightly with the butt of his pike to announce his arrival and prevent intrusion.

"Received word o' this 'Wayside Patrol'…just wonderin…if…ur…" 

The remainder of his inquisition trails off as the rock solid sense of a rather cold social atmosphere dawns upon his senses. Looking around nervously he bites his lip and continued. "Apologies if I caught yea at a bad time…"

A young red squirrel makes her way towards the party of assembled creatures. She is a rather young, yet well built squirrel, with a wise head on her shoulders. Her fur is the color of a rosy red with a bright silver stripe that stretches from her nose tip, between her ears and down her head. She moves swiftly, with the grace of her species, her paw toying with the golden dagger that she always wears around her waist. Her bright emerald eyes sparkle as she looks around, having heard bits and pieces of the conversations that were going around. She gives Brooke and Moontouch a slight smile as she sees them then makes her way over to where Riala stands. The squirrel flicks her tail and forms a circle within her paws, a sign of respectful greeting.

"My name is SilverRose Brighteye, first mate in the fleet division on the Northern Flyer. I heard that there was to be a patrol going out and I was wondering if you would grant me the honor of traveling with you and these fine creatures. I am skilled in archery and I am able to heal also if it be needed" She stands at a slight slant, her eyes looking about for a moment then returning to Riala. "If you wish to know, I have been on patrols before when I was in Southsward so I have had a little bit of experience." She smiles lightly, the way she always does when she meets someone new. The squirrel nods to the sign up parchment "Is it all right if I sign up?"

"A thousand apologies are hardly needed fer me t'understand, Rook m'boyo. Tis quite alright." Mack pats Rook's paw in a comforting way, a warm smile turning the corners of his lips as he answers the tough otter's question.  "I think t'would be a very good thing for you t'come Rook, be a good thing fer more then jest one beast." The elderly hare glances briefly in Riala's direction; perhaps another solitary creature would soften the both of them up. "Besides, no tellin' what trouble we'll run into, we need beast who's strong with daggers as y'be." 

Mack steps towards Kuja, another friendly smile on his face as he waved towards the fox's weapon where they lay on the ground. "An' you can still come too, ever'beast who wishes may. Pick yer weapons up, tis a bad habit to taunt other beasts."  With a sigh, Mack smoothes the wrinkles from his cloak and tunic and marches smartly up to Riala, nodding briefly to Landin to acknowledge the march hare's presence. Saluting the warrior squirrel, the older hare waves a paw towards the others that had assembled. "Well Riala, I'd say anymore an' not be a patrol. We're at yer command, m'gel."

A small hooded figure glides in, approaching the assembly silently. It stops in front of Mackbry, giving the older hare a respectful nod. Then as the figure cranes her head to look the hare in the eyes, her black hood falls from her face, revealing her as an albino mouse. Though her tattered black cloak covers most of her attire, a sword hilt is clearly seen protruding from behind the heavy fabric. A red rose sits behind her ear, obscenely lovely against her ghostly white fur, and a crown of blue pearls rests upon her brow. With a grin, she nods to Mack and Rook, apparently in a good mood.

"Hello, you two. How do you fare?" she asks pleasantly, a confusing mood swing from her usual melancholy self. "I heard there was a patrol going out, and I thought I'd better join up."

Riala takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly as she watches Mackbry speak softly to the otter and the fox. As he walks up to her, she nods gratefully to him, not disguising her relief at his use of his ability to smooth down raised hackles. "My command?" she echoes wryly, her northern accent fading to its usual near-imperceptible level with the relaxing of her nerves. "You sure you don't want to lead instead?" It was a poor attempt at humor, trying to lessen the feeling of being overwhelmed at having to lead this already too-large group across the Northlands- but it was a stab at humor nonetheless, a rarity with the withdrawn squirrel. 

She nods at his suggestion that the patrol was large enough; too large for a normal patrol, perhaps, but this one had to be larger than normal in order to set up the waystations. Perhaps they'd have to split into two groups later on; it would remain to be seen if that would happen. Riala glances over at the creatures that had come in and not yet signed up, then pitches her voice to carry across the platoon grounds. "Everybeast who hasn't yet, sign up over here," she says. "That'll be all the creatures we can take for this mission then."

Brooke notices that Rook had spit out blood from his mouth so her instincts kick in and she quickly runs to get a mug and then makes her way down to the nearest creek to scoop up some water. She comes back and purposely walks in front of Rook's starring pathway to Kuja, so that she could cut through the tension. Even though she knew that Rook would probably put up a fuss at what she was about to do she took a deep breath and continues on doing what she has made up her mind to. She reaches out and grabs his face with her paw. 

"Ay ya' remember me don't cha'? Now open your mouth and let me see what ya' have done to yer self...over a little ol' fox no less. Now rinse yer mouth with this and spit." As she hands him the mug, almost forcing him to take a gulp of it, she looks at him with her big emerald green eyes and she gives him one of her cheerful winks. 

"Rook we need ya' on this mission, ya can't back out on us now. The loyality is good that ya' have fer yer family but ya' have ta' put that aside fer now. Many beasts 'r dependin' on ya', look at young Kalen over ther', we need yer help ta' protect us and the Fort too. If 'in you were along I am sure that we would all feel a lot safer." 

As she stands there waiting for him to rinse his mouth he bends over slightly to spew out the water mixed with blood and she gently places her paw on his back.  "Now get over ther' and sign that parchment, stop all of this anger and get yer priorities in order, we're all fighten' fer the same cause."

Though firmly directed, the concern and caring in Brooke's actions causes Rook to rethink his stand on her as he stands bent double, letting rose-tinted water drip from the fur of his muzzle. She is an ingenuous soul that walked amongst some of the toughest beasts he'd ever seen. And yet, Brooke keeps her head raised and the edge about her as keen as chipped flint. Rook has to give her some credit for that, if nothing else, though he is sure to learn more of the otter femme as time marched ahead.

"....thank you very much, Brooke....very considerate of you...."

She takes the bottom of her deep purple skirt and pulls it up to his face while he is still dripping the pinkish water off of the tip of his nose and she wipes off the excess. It leaves a spot of wetness on her skirt but she is not to concerned by this because there is a cool breeze blowing and it will dry soon enough. Leaning down to his ear she whispers. "Aye ya' 'r quite welcome sir, I'm glad that I could help ya'. If 'in ya' ever need me I'll be there fer ya', no need ta' think about asking me twice."

Brooke was always able to keep a level head about her in times of tension and distress. Never was there a moment that she did not think things through before taking action. After all she figures that if you make a wrong move you will always make a situation worse instead of better but you can never make a situation worse by making a good move. The first beast usually there to help is Brooke no matter what the dangers are to herself, all she thinks about is the plight of others. Once you are her friend her loyalty will run deep within her, not even death could kill it.

Placing a ebony paw to his belt, he removes the dagger, and tests the keen point on his fleshy black paw pad. The milky white blade flashes in the sunlight creating a light pattern on the walls around him. He looks up pondering the sky, and the clouds, then back at his blade, an image flashing in the blade. Is it his imagination, or is it real? 

Undecidedly the fox shakes his head wearily, not wanting to believe what he saw. He hastily stashes the dagger into his belt, and stands up.  _...this is not the way any patrol should start. There is no proper order here with everybeast hating one another..._  Cleaning off his already ragged grey cloak, he turns from side to side to view each newcomer respectively, his mind now cleared of any distraction. His mouth remains closed and he speaks nothing.

Realizing that this 'Riala' was to be the commander of the patrol Landin is forced to seriously reconsider his participation in the mission. He knows good and well that a commander of great experience will be needed if the patrol was to be a success, and having no prior knowledge of the squirrel or her talents as a leader Landin feels rather uneasy about following under her command. Though he is also aware of his position among the other creatures, this being one ill suited for such an opinion, much less one for a proper suggestion. 

Taking all of this into consideration he decides that he knows too little of the creature to judge her fairly and proceeds towards the enlistment sheet. With a swift glance over its contents he takes up the quill pen and signs the sheet in his rather scratchy writing. 

_Landin McGregor ___

_Helmsbeast ___

_Fleet Division, Wavearrow_

Moontouch watches Brooke tend to Rook and watches Kuja for a moment. She may not have taking quite a liking to him at first, but she feels bad that she had been, in her eyes, rude and not quite nice. The black otter moves over to the fox and runs a paw through her headfur, introducing herself and not caring an ounce what others may think. 

"I don't believe that I have introduced myself! I'm Vice Admiral Moontouch Icebrink of the Fleet Division. M'ship is the Northern Flyer. You're Kuja..?" The black otter tries to think of his last name, waving a paw at her own head, trying to recall it. She had a hard time with last names, obviously. "I'm sorry! I forgot your last name..." She gives the fox an apologetic smile.

Pearl was quiet for some time, embarrassed at her casual manner during such tensions. She stands a while by the roll sheet and Riala, and is soon accompanied by Mack as he moves over to Riala's way. "Howdy mate. Nice to see a, er, friendly face I know 'round here I suppose. Er, wha's goin' on? Fightin' already?"

The tall lean fox gently accepts Moontouch's paw. His eyes become their usually piercing pallor as he thinks. _...A warrior too, but she must think before doing anything foolish or harmful..._  His eyes close momentarily as he replies, the wind gracefully ruffling his red fur, and tugging his coak around his black foot paws. 

He replies in his rolling native southern tongue.  "Moontouch, a lovely name. You are one who is loyal, and will remain true to your friends. As you already know, I am Kuja. As for a last name, I have many. In the south I am Kuja Zann, in Mossflower, I am Kuja Rovingblood, and in the north, I am Kuja Redbrush." He lets the sleek black paws drop to his sides, and shrugs as he continues his word.  "And the evil call me Kuja the Outcast." Having finished speaking, he lifts up the hood of his cloak, and peers back at Moontouch through the shadows that the sun made as it shone down on the burlap fabric.

Brooke finishes up giving aid to Rook as her emerald green eyes caromed off several beasts before they fell upon the lanky fox that calls himself Kuja. She observes his actions as Moontouch introduces herself. She was not one to judge beasts right away but because of the cryptic manner of Kuja's first presence, it caused her to be set on guard, and when he spoke to Kalen her maternal instincts began to soar. Although his behavioral attributes now seem to her to be more honorable and gentle, not posing as much of a threat as before. 

Often she will position herself at a distance so as to watch the intensions of a beast that she is not familiar with, not ready to call them a friend until they have proven where their loyalties lie. True to her past she is cautious of the male gender, for reasons unbeknown to herself. But for the sake of the successfulness of the Trial Patrol she decides to put aside her personality flaws and present herself to him as one that is not an enemy. 

Brushing off her now slightly moisten skirt she saunters over to Kuja. The gentle winds cause her feathery blonde bangs to descend in the way of her starring stance with the red fox, so as usual she lightly pushes them away. Thrusting out her paw to give him a secure shake she keeps eye contact with him at all times. 

"I be Brooke Briar, First Mate of the Northern Flyer, ya' have already met me adopted son Kalen. Glad ta' have ya' along on our mission here. We always welcome another strong male. But don't be tryin' boss me around, I don't take kindly ta' orders from the male gender, especially from ones that I don't know so well yet." Brooke gives him a little wink but the expression in her eyes tell him that she is not jesting about the remark that she just hurled from her mouth. Although she tries to leave him on a good note. 

"Let's go on this mission united, immersing the enemy to the Dark Forest's Gates, if that be where they are headin'."

"Well, you'll be takin' orders from whatever gender they be given from if the beast be of higher rank, m'gel," Mack says quietly at Brooke's comment to Kuja. However, he quickly shifts his attention back to Riala. "Rightyo commander marm, since y'don't seem t'be forward in going backwards, shall we allow this bally patrol t'commence? All be needed is a slight order on yer half, an' off we be, eh wot?"

Upon hearing what Mack has just said under his breath Brooke looks over at him and tries to set things straight, wishing what she said to not be taken wrong by the higher ranked males, and she gives him a smart salute. "Mack sir' me meant no harm ta' the higher ranks, I was just makin' me point ta' Kuja, since he seems ta' like ta' lord it over the smaller and younger beasts because of his age and size. Aye I admit that I have a hard time with the male gender but I be workin' on it real hard and I certainly wouldn't disobey an order from a beast such as yer'self."

Riala shakes her head at Mackbry's question. "We don't leave for another two days. Everybeast needs time to pack whatever they need for the trip, and tools and supplies need to be packed. That'll take a bit of time." She glances over the gathered warriors with a whispered "excuse me" to Mack, and then walks over to the barracks deck, rapping her short stick weapon against the post for attention. 

"If everybeast's signed up," the squirrel begins, her voice loud enough to carry to the perimeter of the platoon grounds, "then I'll brief you on the mission. I'm assuming you all read the notice, but I'll go over it again nonetheless. We're a trial patrol for a future patrol system. We'll be traveling a wide circuit across the Northlands, and we'll be setting up waystations for future patrols as we go. You'll need to pack your own food and bedrolls; we'll replenish food supplies on the way. You'll be provided with building tools for building the waystations - we all have to work on those to make them go up as quickly as possible. We're going to try to make the entire circuit within three weeks, although as we're larger than a typical patrol will be and we have to build waystations on the trail, it may take us longer." 

"We'll be pairing up for the trip - we'll have two sentries per shift and pairs for foraging and scouting and the like. If there's somebeast you already work well with, write it down on the paper over there. The mission should go smoother if you're working with somebeast you know." The red-brown squirrel pauses, thinking. "That's about it. Meet back here at dawn two days from now. You'll get your tools and the sentry, cooking, foraging, and scouting lineup then. We'll want to get an early start, so don't be late or we'll have to leave without you." Another pause as her gold-brown eyes scan the crowd, taking silent note of each and every creature. "If you've any questions or requests in the meantime, talk to myself or Major General Teltoli Riverbuck. That's all for now. Dismissed."

Mack smiles at Brooke and promptly salutes her back. He reaches out to place a comforting paw on her shoulder to show he had meant no harm by his comment. "Tis alright, 'gel, I didn't mean in an offendin' way, wot! Simple statin' an ol' fact fer the books, 'sides yer of higher rank then Kuja, don't worry about him pushin' y'around. Now I suggest we all hit the bunks, m'buckos." Mack said as he raised his voice for the rest to hear him. "Twould be a good idea t'sleep well t'night and spend the next two days packin' an' sayin' g'bye to yer loved ones."

The fox readily accepts Brooke's soft warm paw. He looks back at her, he too keeps his eyes on her, but not warily, or coldly. The sun beams its elegant rays as it dips slowly into the horizon sending radiant beams of red, orange, and golden hues of pink. _...the day has gone too fast, the group it's self has bloomed, and grown. The otter before me is strong in heart, and cares for those who are younger..._

"Hello Brooke, a pleasure to meet you. You need not worry about me ordering you or anybeast around. All of us are equal, and should be treated the same, except those who lead. They should be given respect, for in their paws, our lives lay. A commander can lead us to death, or to victory if only they know themselves and know their enemy." 

The tall red fox turns and kneels before Raila. He whips out his dagger, the rippled blade glinting in the sun's last rays of light.  He turns the hilt to the squirrel, and bows his head honorably placing the blade within her grasp. His eyes close momentarily as he spoke. "I am yours to command, while with you, my blade is yours upon my honor, and what little is left of my species."

Riala turned as she sensed movement behind her, noting Kuja with an idle curiosity. The sudden motion as he draws his dagger causes her to tense reflexively, one paw jerking almost spasmodically towards the thick, short stick in her belt. Old habits die hard, and she is too used to viewing foxes as vermin, as the enemy, to be totally at ease around one, even if she believes he's a goodbeast. The squirrel forces abruptly taut muscles to loosen, although the tension still tugs insistently at her scarred body. 

As the fox holds out the hilt of his blade, she can't help but gape at him. This is a gesture entirely unfamiliar to her, completely alien, even awkward... but she senses that it would be an insult to refuse. One scarred, red-brown paw reaches out to belatedly grasp the hilt, confusion and a hint of trepidation showing as shadows in her gold-brown eyes. His words seem to reach out in and of theirselves and push Riala's head from side to side in an almost violent headshake. "I can't- you shouldn't- you don't even know if-" She stops, biting off any further failed sentences, and takes a deep breath. She doesn't deserve to command, even though the role has been forced upon her; she doesn't deserve allegience of any sort. She hasn't earned it, she hasn't shown she's capable of keeping it... she's an inexperienced leader who doesn't even want the position. But she realizes again that it would be an insult not to accept. "Thank you," the squirrel says finally, forcing any uncertainty away from her rough voice. Her rust-gold tail flicks to the side in agitation and she clamps down on the surprise and awkwardness caused by the fox's words and actions.

The sun rides slightly to the west, casting its fiery glow down upon the figure of a lone hare making his way towards his barracks. His bright eyes flick to and fro, scanning the unusually large group of beasts in front of his home. Drawing in a quick breath the hare mutters to himself in low tones, "Well now, look at this group would yah... navah seen so many beasts in the platoon four grounds afore. Well Riverbuck, yah best git ovah there an make yerself known in one way er' another wot!"

The hare strides closer, his shadow casting out across the dusty grounds in front of him. Unconsciously he runs his paws over his jerkin, straitening out the fabric, and placing a paw to each of the two axes at his sides. Twitching his whiskers in a quick sniff, he reaches up and presses the rough blue beret resting on his headfur forward, giving him a rather official look. Usually Major General Teltoli Rifflapin Riverbuck was easy going and jovial but he had already sensed the air of uneasiness brewing about in the many beasts standing next to the barracks porch, and knows that this situation called for serious behavior. Twiching his ears, Tel steps out smartly, making his way through the beasts and stopping in front of Riala. 

Tel sees the expressions Riala wore as he walks towards her. He knows some of the squirrel's moods, having talked with her on a number of occasions, he knows right away that something is wrong within the group. Tel decides it would be best to speak with Riala in private about what was going on. Not wishing to be impolite to the beasts standing about, the hare makes a quick nod towards them, and turns back to Riala. Speaking in a hushed tone, the hare motions towards the door of the barracks.

"Riala, looks like a bally platoon full o beasts have shown up fer the mission wot..." Giving the squirrel a quick smile the hare continues, "Would yah mind if I had a private word with yah inside?"

Riala nods to Teltoli and follows him into the barracks, somewhat curious as to what the hare has to say. Holding open the door, Tel allows the squirrel to make her way inside. The barracks are warm and a bit stuffy after being closed up for most of the day. Tel decides it best to keep the windows and door closed though, not wishing the other beasts to hear the conversation. Light shafts strike through the thick windowpanes, reflecting the glitter of myriads of tiny dust motes swirling about. Tel nods to Riala, a sign of respect, and begins to speak. He tries to be to the point, but still sound friendly.

"I think I'll make this brief an' to the point marm. I have two questions fer yah wot. First off, I was wondering whot me rank is in this mission. I figured since we came up with it togetha, I would be just under you in the rankin'.  Is this correct? If it is not, I mean no disrespect to yah in any way wot! Jest say the word an' I'll be there. " Tel smiles briefly, hoping to not make the situation too tense.

Riala nods with a slight and rueful smile. "Aye, just under myself, if not alongside... you've really the more experience, and you're one of the few coming along that's in this platoon."

 "Secondly, have you decided upon how this mission will be set up, as far as ranks, jobs, groups and the like?"

The squirrel shrugs, a minute motion that's barely noticeable in the dimming light inside the barracks. "I have some idea of what it'd be like, as you may have heard me say outside.  I think we may have to split into two groups later down the trail, but that may or may not be necessary.  We'd rotate duties such as standing sentry, cooking, scouting, and the like.  I was planning to write those out tonight, and I'd appreciate your help - you probably know more of the creatures in the group than I." She pauses, gold-brown eyes darkening as she thinks on the subject. "I was thinking we could split into four groups for building the waystations and for other tasks, if needed.  I'll show you my notes in a little while..."

 It seems to me this group is too large, an' frankly... I've heard tell that that otter would outright kill the fox if he got the chance..." Tel had heard tell of Rook and Kuja, knowing full well what might happen if the two were left alone together.

Riala grimaces, a twist of the mouth that pulls the scarred fur of her face in odd directions, the uneven light of the setting sun turning her features into a demon's mask. "Aye.  When first the otter sighted the fox, he looked as if he were going to kill him on the spot.  'Tis like myself and wolverines." The last sentence was added in a quiet tone, a shade of uncertainty coloring the rough voice.  If she acted like the otter did... it wasn't something she was proud of.  But it wasn't something she could let go of, either... she'd never met a wolverine she could trust, and even if she did, she didn't think she'd ever be able to tolerate its presence.  Foxes were one thing; she'd hated all vermin once, but had met vulpines that had become comrades, if not friends.  But wolverines...  She shakes her head violently as if that would clear her mind of the wandering, shadowed thoughts, locking the uncomfortably mixed emotions away inside her as always.  Too much to do now to be preoccupied with thoughts such as those...

 He nodded to Riala again before finishing his piece. "Jest know, that, I'm not trying teh usurp yer authority in this matter, I trust yah as a leader wot! If yeh need help though...I've been on missions many times afore an would be more than happy tah help yah if yah would like wot. " The hare stands still, waiting for the squirrel to respond.

A slight smile tugs at the corners of the squirrel's mouth at the hare's words. "Tel, I never asked for this position.  I'm inexperienced at leadership and inexperienced with people.  I'm a loner still, for all that I've gone on missions with more than one creature for the past several missions I've done.  I don't have a hare's gift with otherbeasts." Her voice is flat, her words matter-of-fact and coolly honest as she speaks. "I need all the help I can get."

Tel nods quietly as Riala speaks. He listens intently to her words, twitching his ears every so often. As she finishes the hare gives back a slight smile. He was not quite sure how Riala had been feeling about being the leader of this mission, but had had an idea. Although Riala seemed skeptical about her role as a leader, Tel knew from experience the value of such a position to a beast's life. He had learned much from his past ventures and felt willing to support his friend in any way she wanted. 

"Righto Riala! I'll be right by yer side if yah need me there...or whever else you want me. Jest say the word an Tel's there wot!" Suddenly Tel smiles heartily. Resting his paws on his twin paw axes and speaks almost jovially, his eyes sparkling brightly. "Alrighty, this mission should be fun...if we keep the right attitudes wot! Jest got t'make sure we pair the right beasts up with each otha!"

Riala's mouth thins into a grimly amused line that could scarcely be called a smile, listening to the hare's words.  She picks up a much-handled scroll with her jagged, rushed, untidy printing scrawled across it in heavy black ink. "Here's what I've figured out so far..." she says, adding a few notations with a nibbled-upon quill pen as she speaks. "I have some idea as to who should be paired with whom, but I'm hoping you know everybeast on the list better than I. If you've any ideas..." The squirrel trails off, handing the scroll to Teltoli.

_A/N: The thread ended here, as there were no further posts by any roleplayers.  It continues in a second roleplaying thread two in-character days later._


	9. Wayside Patrol - Day 1 - Morning

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a huge IC mission roleplayed out by many different players.  I haven't edited anything (spelling, grammar, tense, post order, etc) yet, and I might not get around to it for a while simply because this is such a long thread.  I hoe you can still follow it.  The only character I wrote the part of was Riala._

Wayside Patrol – Day 1 - Morning 

As the sun's first light peek over the horizon, burning away the light mist of the night before, the sounds of preparation for the mission can be heard from the Platoon 4 grounds. The solid thud of wood on wood reveberates across the sleepy fort when Riala lets the last of the carpentry tools fall against the barracks deck. Dusting scarred paws off on her mottled forest-shaded tunic, the squirrel picks up a piece of parchment and tacks it onto the barracks door. In black ink, written in hurried, untidy handwriting by a heavy paw, it reads:   
  
_The patrol is divided up into four teams of four each, and each team is further divided into pairs. Teams are denoted by the numbers 1-4, and pairs are denoted by the letters a and b. 1a and 1a are paired together; 1b and 1b are paired together; etc. __  
  
1a. Major General Mackbry Taffellappen   
1a. Vice Admiral Rook Scarbin   
  
1b. Boatswain Kalen Rune   
1b. First Mate Brooke Briar   
  
2a. Admiral Moontouch Icebrink   
2a. Corporal Cinder Elmcreek   
2a. Seabeast Tann Swiftcreek   
  
2b. First Mate SilverRose Brighteye   
2b. Boatswain Landin McGregor   
  
3a. Admiral Pearl Stormwind   
3a. Guard Shara Khaari   
  
3b. Major General Riala Goldentail   
3b. Sergeant Kuja   
  
4a. Major General Teltoli Riverbuck   
4a. Second Mate Streamrose Streamflight   
  
4b. Brigadier General Moonrose Stormpaw   
4b. Second Mate Lupin Swiftstream_   
  
Farther down on the page reads:   
  
_Scheduled roles for Day 1 are as follows: __  
  
Morning Scouting/Foraging – Team 1   
Afternoon Scouting/Foraging – Team 2   
Evening Scouting/Foraging – Team 3   
Dinner – Team 4a   
First Sentry – Team 4b   
Second Sentry – Team 1a   
Third Sentry – Team 1b   
Fourth Sentry – Team 2a   
Fifth Sentry – Team 2b   
  
The teams will alternate as seen above for each day, with an entire team needed for the scouting/foraging jobs, and a pair needed for sentry duty and cooking detail. For instance, Team 3a will be on cooking detail for Day 2's breakfast, while Team 3b will have clean-up duty after camp is struck, and Team 4 will do Morning Scouting/Foraging._   
  
Riala glanced over the list once more before turning and taking a seat on the worn wood of the barracks steps, waiting for the rest of the trial patrol to arrive.

_The day's first dawn saw another creature up and about, first at Platoon 1 barracks, but soon headed for Platoon 4. __  
  
Mackbry Taffellappen could rarely sleep when excited, today proved no different he thought to himself as he strode with an air of detiremination towards the barracks that had been the center of attention just two days before. On his back was a simply packed haversack containing an extra cloak and blanket, a small portable lantern, a tinder box, an aged recipe book, a map paw-written map of northern Mossflower (likely only legible to Mack himself), oil and varnish for keeping his dirk and spear in top condition, quill and an inkwell, eating and cooking ustensils, as well as a short length of rope and a hammer; Riala had mentioned the need to build waystations along the way, it was good to be prepared.   
  
The elderly hare stopped once he was near Riala, his eyes scanning the new notice she had posted quickly, making a mental note to himself of his group and team. Mack stood to attention, stiffly saluting Riala as he reported in._   
  
"Major Gen'ral Mackbry Taffellappen reportin' fer duty!"

_Dawn broke to find Landin McGregor making his way steadily towards the 4th platoon barracks. Apart from his weapons, placed upon the broad of his back hung a haversack, this being one of average size and proportion. Though its content could not clearly be noted it was to be assumed that the march hare carried a travelers necessities such as food, water and spare clothing, as well as various tools, mandatory given the aspects of the patrol to come._   
  
_He arrived to find only two creatures, though the early morning hour could be held liable for this amount. With a swift nod to both Mackbry and Riala the march hare removed the bag from the shoulders and made his way towards the notice posted upon the barracks door, which until now he had failed to notice._   
  
"G'mornin tea yea..."   
  
_As he scanned over the contents of the notice he was rather disappointed to find that he had been placed in partnership with a beast alien to his recollection, though he tried his best to hide his displeasure. Stepping down from the platoon porch he turned towards Riala, a slight smile to place with his calm facial features._   
  
"Landin McGregor cha service mea lass."

**Brooke is not an early riser by nature but this particular morning was quite different for her since it was going to be her first mission and she was rather nervous about it. She and Kalen had gathered all of their provisions into their satchels the night before the mission was assigned to leave. They were well prepared with essentials but what she was not prepared for was the excitement that went along with going on a trial mission. But determined to not show any kind of fear she takes a deep breath, gives a nod to Kalen and off they went across the beach to platoon number four. ****  
  
Upon arriving she thought that she would see all of the beasts that were there just two days ago but the only one that she caught sight of was Mackbry giving salute to Riala and another hare whom she had not had the pleasure of meeting yet. So Brooke decided to follow Mack's lead in order to show her respect for the commander of the mission. Dropping her traveling bags to the ground she comes to a snapping salute, slinging her paw up to her blonde bangs.**   
  
***First Mate, Brooke Briar and Boatswain, Kalen Rune reportin' fer duty marm.***   
  
**After releasing the salute that she had given to Riala she gathered up her belongings and strolled over to the assignment paper. Gazing at it for a few seconds she saw that she was also placed with beasts that she did not know well, but she was not about to question the leader of the mission and cause more stress than needed. Brooke just figured that this would be the time that she would be able to get to know the beasts that she was assigned with better. _Besides, Riala did give us the chance to pick a partner before she would assign us one._**

****

_Early morning was one of the best times of the day for the young red squirrel. She always enjoyed waking just before the sun to watch it rise above the horizon. The squirrel had stayed up late the night before, rather excited about her first type of open mission with the other creatures of Ruddler. She enjoyed meeting new beasts as well as having something to do. Though this was a trial patrol, she decided that she would not take it lightly and work hard like any other time. __  
The squirrel strolled towards Platoon 4, her tail twitching behind her. Upon her back was placed a one straped sack that she wore diagonally across her body. It contained the normal necessites, flint, timber, water, working tools and food. She also wore a healers bag at her side, having recently reclaimed her skills as a healer.   
She smiled brightly as she saw a few beasts already at the Platoon. Her emerald eyes looked about and scanned the parchment that Riala had posted. Reading through it, she found that she knew nothing of the creature of which she was pared with. She paid little heed to it, knowing that she was going to have to meet new creatures in one way or another. Flicking a bit of loose silver fur from her stripe out of her face, she took out a parchment, wrote down the chart then stuck it back within her sack and walked over towards the others.*_   
"Good morning to you all," _*She says cheerfully then stands to attention in front of Riala*_ "First mate SilverRose Brighteye ready to serve and your command"

Cinder came bounding around the corner from Platoon 3 on all fours. _Your late, hurry up!_ he repeated to himself for the hundredth time that morning. He was barely able to keep all of his belongings from jumping off his shoulder at his high speed. When he neared the barrack stairs, he leapt to his back feet putting on as much brakes as he could, as he skid to a halt just past the already congregated beasts. As he stood up straight, the extra weight he was carrying caught up with him.   
  
"Yaaah!" he yeleped as he suddenly found himself being dragged by his food and bedding a few more paces beyond where he intended to stop. Hopping on one foot and swinging his arms frantically, Cinder fought his supplies as he again tried to regain his balance.   
  
Once under control, Cinder looked up to see everyone gaping at him, including commander Riala. He stood up straight and threw her a salute.   
  
"Corporal Cinder Elmcreek, Report'n for duty Sir! ... uh ma'am."   
  
Just realizing the spectacle he made, warily an embarrassed smile crept across his face.   
  
"I guess I'm not as late as I thought. Heh."   
  
Rather dejected at his bad entrance, Cinder slunk down near the bottom of the stairs to reorganize his belongings, hoping that maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought.

First born light of a new days creeps towards the Northern Flyer only to find Rook Scarbin awake as though he'd never slept at all. Truth be told, the otter had risen with the blackbacks that made the sky and the cliffs their home, diving and swooping from silver steamers of a luminous morn. The previous evening had been spent by the newly appointed captain, moving various things from his place of residence to the cozy four walls that comprised the ship's main cabin. It was a dream to turn all others away, making them dull and sullied, and Rook felt as though he'd slumbered for a thousand years. A black cloth had been lifted, and the world was fresh to him once again. How long this would last was anybeast's guess, though this day met a Rook who remained quiet without the underlying animosity that had become antithetical of the otter that once was, and may never be again.   
  
Now, his haversack was full, packed with the tools he used to live life: A change of crimson tunic and khaki breeches, the diary of thoughts, paper and quill, a blanket, a thick volume of poems with a velvet marker between pages 109 and 110 (400 still remaining), a cloth to polish his blades and the crystal spectacles which presented the image of a refined beast when worn   
  
"This should be enough to survive a few weeks, though I hope I'll have some time to read."   
  
Idle musings out of his system, Rook left the 'Flyer for Infanty Platoon 4 with his haversack shouldered. He arrived soon after and, upon reading of whom he was paired with, moved abreast with Mackbry   
  
"Aye, and Vice Admiral Rook Scarbin to complete this team."

_Lupin awakes early, getting ready for the new day at a brisk pace. She knows today is the first of many on her new assignment for Platoon Four. Though normally Lupin could be found on her ship, the Wavearrow, instead of a shore shore patrol, the next few weeks would be an exception. She quickly eats a light breakfast and packs things she assumes valuable for patrol duty: a compass, map, blanket, book of poems, a few scones and some strawberry cordial to snack on, a soft cloth for the cleaning of her sabre should it be needed, and several extra stones for her sling. When ready, she shoulders her knapsack and heads out to the Platoon Four Grounds. __  
  
The fresh scent of early morning is in the air, and several birds fly around busily in their quest to find nest-building materials. Lupin makes her way around the bustling Fort Ruddler, taking care not to bump anybeast or disturb their morning work. When she reaches the desired Platoon's grounds, she finds several creatures already there, though not her scouting oartner, Moonrose Stormpaw. So instead of finding the creature she is paired with, Lupin momentarily sets down her knapsack and reports in to Riala, hoping Moonrose will show up soon._   
  
"Mornin' ma'am. Second Mate Lupin Slipstream reportin' for duty. I did nae see Moonrose yet, so I jus' decided t' check in with ye."

_Moontouch could sleep no matter what the circumstances. She was happily snoring away in her bunk, dreaming dreams that only the black otter would dream when the sun had given its first golden rays to the land. She turned over in her sleep and rolled out of her bunk and crashed to the cold floor. She landed on her shoulder painfully and woke up swiftly. She sat up, her blanket wrapped around her body. She somehow got her paw free from the entanglement of the fabric to rub her shoulder ruefully. She mumbles some unintelligible, sleepy words when she turned her eyes toward the window, sunlight pouring in. Like bolt of lightning striking her, Moontouch realized that she was supposed to have gotten up earlier that morning and packed her things for the trial patrol the previous night. She fought with the blanket and threw it on the bunk. She moved as quickly as she could, packing everything that she had set out the day she had signed up for the mission. She hastily arranged everything so it would fit. Moontouch hastily slips out of her white night gown and into her clothes. As she runs out the door, she has to run back in, grabbing her bag and also her chest belt and swords from the peg by her bunk. __  
  
Moontouch reached the Platoon a little after she had bolted out her door. But in her haste she had ran into a wall while trying to dodge other early risers, hurting her shoulder again. She arrived breathless, fatigued, and rubbing her shoulder again. When she finally catches her breath, Moontouch slips her bag off her shoulder and sits it on the ground, saluting Riala smartly and standing to attention.*_   
  
Admiral Moontouch Icebrink, reportin' fer duty, Marm!   
  
_*She winces as she puts her paw down, her shoulder sore. She rubs it again and looks a bit embarrassed as she walks up to the chart, reading it over carefully. She nods her head, understanding whom she was paired up with. She rubs her shoulder again and then walks over to where she had sat her bag, picking it up with the opposite paw and placing it somewhere where no one would trip on it, still looking a little embarrassed. The black otter fervently hoped no one had seen her run into the wall.*_

Riala nods to Mackbry as the hare walks up to her, shaking her head slightly in amusement as he salutes. For once, she doesn't complain about the formality - she figures she'll have to get used to it if she's going to be forced into a commanding position such as this one. Gold-brown eyes flick to the carpentry tools he carries. "You didn't have to bring those," she says, motioning to the tools stacked against the barracks deck, "although I'm glad you did... I was beginning to wonder if I'd brought enough for everybeast."   
  
The squirrel glances over at Landin as the march hare enters and checks the list on the barracks door. "'Morning," she returns the casual greeting, and lets her gaze drift to the grounds entrance, where Brooke and Kalen have entered. Her nod encompasses both otters, as well as the incoming SilverRose, and she gestures to the carpentry tools near the barracks. "Pick a tool if you don't have one already. You'll need it for when we build each waystation."   
  
Amusement twitches the corners of the squirrel's mouth as Cinder makes his ... somewhat ungraceful entrance. She shakes her head, keeping back the urge to chuckle at his antics, easily schooling her scarred features to immobility. "You're certainly earlier than some," she says, making a silent count of the creatures in the yard. Seven out of seventeen, including herself. "There are carpentry tools over there. Choose one to carry with you- you'll need it for when we have to build waystations." She puts a little more air behind the comments about the tools so that her voice carries to Rook, and then Riala turns her attention back to the creatures still arriving.   
  
She nods in greeting to Lupin and Moontouch, deciding to wait for a few more creatures to arrive before she repeats the instruction to choose tools. Ten out of seventeen... seven more to wait for. Once the sun was above the horizon, though, they were leaving, whether or not everybeast had arrived.

_Shara rushes into the room, a pair of bags slung carelessly over her sholder. Skidding to a halt, she looks around the platoon and, spotting the piece of paper, walks over to read it. After scaning the parchment for a few moments, Shara glances around the room for her partner. Glancing back at the sheet again, she calls_   
"Pearl? Pearl...Stormwind?"   
  
_Hearing no reply, Shara settles herself against the wall of the baracks. Taking out a piece of driftwood and a small knife, she begins to whittle while humming a tune to herself. She looks around the room at the strangely mixed group and settles her gaze on the fox. __  
  
Shara had delt with foxes before, but only once had she met a fox with an even remote sense of dignity. Even then the idea of dignity was fairly far off, pratically nonexistent until she had met him. Shara frowned to herself at the memory of that place where she had spent five long years. Although at the time those years seemed like several centuries. Lost in her memories, sounds of pain filled Shara's ears and the smell of wood burning, always burning crept into her nose...Shara gave herself a mental shake and blinked for a few moments, trying to reorient herself.   
  
'That's not important now,' she thought to herself,'Keep your mind on the task at paw and stop thinking about the past.'   
  
With that thought settled firmly in her mind, Shara continued to carefully whittle the shape of wood. Small flakes of the wood drifted down like snow as Shara continued to stare past the wood, as though she didn't even realize what her hands were doing, but continued thinking...._

"G'mornin', Rook m'boyo. Trust y'slept well? That is, hope the Cap'n slept well."   
  
_The gray hare smiled warmly and winked at Rook, off-handedly congratulating his friend on his promotion. He was only slightly surprised that the otter looked and sounded to be in a light mood, something even Mack saw rarely. __  
  
Mack reached down among the tools, coming up with a box of nails and small hachet, both soon tucked into his haversack with the rest of his belongings._

_The hare rubbed his eyes and sat up in his bunk. Tel could sleep well no matter what the circumstances, and since he had been on many missions before he felt prepared for the one beginning this fine day. After a languid stretch the hare swung his footpaws off his bunk and made his way to the basin in the corner of his dormitory. After a brisk splash of cold water to the face, Tel wiped his muzzel on a rough towel and headed towards the side of his bed. On a chair by his bedside rested his travelling cloths, a worn and comfortable blue jerkin, rough grey hock length pants, four strips of tough black leather for his lower arms and footpaws and a stout walking staff.* _  
  
Ah...another day another misssion...   
  
_*The hare mused quietly to himself as he dressed, smiling slightly at the thought of the adventures to come. He had never been on a Ruddler mission before and was excited by the prospect. Tel grabbed his prepacked haversack and swung it to his back. Inside were all the esentials for travelling, packed light for long carrying. He placed a paw to each of his weapons and he placed them on his person. His bladed javelin, behind his haversack. His twin paw axes, at his sides. His dirk, at his far left side. His twin throwing daggers, inside the wraps on his legs. Tel took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror by his door as he exited. It was a fine day for high adventure! __  
  
Opening the door, Tel saw a largish group of creatures assembled in front of his barrack. Saluting the many beasts, Tel smiled and knelt down next to Riala. He spoke to her a quite tones while quickly glancing over the formations tacked to the door._   
  
I say wot! Morning commander! Looks like a fine day for adventure. These formations look like they should work out nicely enough. Anything need doing afore we head out?   
  
_*The hare stood on the porch for a moment, watching the other creatures and smiling faintly. Eventually he took a few slow steps down the stairs and stood near Mack. *_   
  
I say Mack, you ready fer a grand ol' day wot!? Wonder where me partner's got to...

**Standing alone in the shadows of the stone walls, the lean fox watched the communing beasts as they gathered. His form was hidden, almost invincible by the grey shadows that rapidly began to thin out in the morning light.**   
  
_...so, this is it. We, or they are ready to leave, almost eager. That may be good, for they may be eager to do good, or ready to slay..._   
  
**The fox then left his dissappearing hiding place. He was dressed in a light yellow shirt, and he wore simple light blue pants held up by a wide black leather belt with a silver leaf shaped buckle that glinted in the sunlight. He wore no heavy pack, but instead had a small traveller's bag slung over his left shoulder in a jaunty fashion. He needed no cumbersome sack, for patrolling, he travelled light. ****  
  
He looked around the group trying to know each member by not speaking, but by percieving. He nodded his head Riala, speaking slowly as he reported into his superiors. **  
  
"Sergeant Kuja, reporting for duty."   
  
**After speaking, he looked around once more curiously before retreating from the center of which he thought to be of attention. ****  
  
He stretched his limber red arms, and sighed, life was not easy being a fox, one whose species was known for cruelty, and evilness. That was not his way.**

Rook cannot help but let a smile crack his often somber face. The point of authority doesn't seem to fit him very well, and Rook is quite thankful that Mack didn't dare refer to him as "sir". The title quite literally made his skin crawl, him being so fond of just plain old Rook, or Rooko, or Rookashadow. It depended on who was addressing him   
  
"Thank you, Mackbry."

_A peaceful wind blew into Tann's tent, ruffling the blanket laid upon his fur. Sleep left him as he heard other beast conversing outside. yawning and trying hard not to stumble, he dressed in his simple jerkin of blue. Placing his belt around his waist and slinging his longbow across his back, he stepped out into the morning sun. _  
  
"Well, he thought, this is it. My first day on my first mission." Turning toward the sound of Riala's voice he quietly walked over.   
  
Standing straight and tall he addressed Riala saying," Second Mate Tann Swiftcreek, at yore service.

She had been silently gliding around for the better part of the morning, observing the beasts she would be traveling with. The small mouse's wandering had gone unnoticed. The rising sun turned her ghostly white fur a light gold, and glinted in her rose-coloured eyes. A red rose tucked behind her ear, still wet with morning dew, glistened in the growing light along with the hilt of her blade, which peeked out behind the folds of fabric that was her cloak. Though the morning was crisp, her tattered black cloak kept her comfortably warm. Her skirts brushed through the wet blades of grass as she moved, her bare-footpaws already soaked.   
The mouse had been awake for hours, solomly treking through Platoon 4 and awaiting orders from their leader. She enjoyed the quiet sounds of the morning, and was rather dissapointed when the still air became cluttered up with the sounds of awakening beasts and rustling packs.   
Her own haversack was lightly filled, as she had learned to carry as little weight as possible when traveling. A tinder and flint, a dozen oatmeal scones, 3 russet apples, a coil of stout vine rope, and a small knife were all that filled her small burlap sack that hung at her waist. Also hanging from her belt was a weathered canteen filled with fresh water. Strapped across her back was her double-bladed sword, the brass hilt and black pommel stone petruding from over her shoulder, her only weapon besides the small knife in her haversack.   
Thus the albino was prepared. She had suffered cold before, and could handle the cold. She had suffered hunger before, and could handle hunger. She had delt with danger before, and could handle any foebeast. She had traveled Mossflower for many seasons, and somewhat knew the area. This was her first mission, and she could feel excitement well up inside her as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky. But her stern white face and cold rose-coloured eyes did not betray her as she wandered around.   
Finally, she noticed some familiar faces. She strided up to Riala, gazing up to the tall auburn squirrel to meet her gaze. With a curt nod, she speaks to her in a gruff, clear voice.*   
  
"Brigadier General Moonrose Stormpaw here, awaiting orders," she said simply.

Riala exchanges polite greetings with each arriving fortbeast, repeating her instruction to choose a carpentry tool from near the barracks. She casts a critical gold-brown eye at the horizon, where the sun's lowest curve has finally risen above the sea. The squirrel takes a swift count of the creatures in the platoon yard: fifteen out of seventeen. Well, she wasn't going to wait for those who had slept in...   
  
She stepped up on the barracks deck and rapped her roce on the wood for attention. "If everyone has chosen a carpentry tool, then we'll be leaving. Team 1 will be taking scouting duty - no need for foraging yet, as we're fine on foodstuffs so far. 1a will take the left flank as we go north; 1b will take the right. Scout the area ahead and aside of us, but make sure you keep up and don't lose track of the main group. There are maps of our planned route for everybeast by the gate- be sure to take one as you leave. Let's move on out!"   
  
With that, the squirrel bounded with the agile grace of her species to the gate, swung it open, and started towards the entrance of the fort, assuming everybeast else would follow or else be left behind.

_Mack quickened his pace to lay claim to one of the maps in the pile Riala had indicated. A moment was all it took for the hare to spot the first place they were to build a waystation, north of Fort Ruddler. With a crack of his knuckles, Mack tucked his map into his belt, calling out to Rook as he began to lope ahead at a steady pace._   
  
"Well, off w'go, eh wot? C'mon then Rooko, we be off t'scout ahead."

_Drawing up his haversack Landin slung it neatly onto his shoulders and without so much as a backwards glance followed in same direction Mackbry had moved off in only moments before._   
  
_Upon reaching the main gate the march hare was greeted with a scene so beautiful that only these mysterious northern lands could easily produce it. As far as the eye could see the majestic plains nodded gently with the grace of a new found spring breeze, its rolling hills and valleys spanning what seemed a limitless distance. To the north east one could faintly make out the presence of the northern mountains, their very tips concealed in a billowy blanket of misty clouds. Turning his face into the wind Landin allowed himself a gulp of fresh spring air, though it was short lived as he sighed away moments after._   
  
_Landin was brought back from his land of aw as he noticed the stack of maps previously mentioned by Riala. Taking one up he examined its contents carefully, periodically glancing up to compare its similarity with the lands bordering the fort._

_Satisfied with his examination of the map he folded it neatly and placed it in his belt just to the right of his dirk. He had travelled these lands before and knew of its treacherous passing. Food was fairly scarce which made foraging a challenge, and to add to this thorn bushels and small sharp rocks dotted the landscape, concealed under the mesh of tall grass. Any creature not experienced in the ways of a country traveller was in for a rough ride. Despite all of this Landin was confident he would find the going easy enough._

_*Making sure that her traveling pack was secure, SilverRose walked over towards the maps and plucked one from the ground. Her eyes scanned over the terrain, some land familiar to her while others rather foreign. After a few moments she tucked the map into her belt and hurried after the others. She walked up beside a hare who just happened to be Landin and greeted him with a friendly tone in her voice, figuring that if she was going to be going on a mission that she had better start to learn who everyone was.*_   
"Good day to you. I'm SilverRose, might I ask you of your name?" _*She gave him a light smile as they walked*_

_Lupin follows several other creatures out the gates, picking up a map as she goes. She then takes a moment to move her old map to an unused portion of her small knapsack, as it will not be of any use. Lupin knows a bit of the land directly around the Fort, but not much after, as she is actually part of Fort Ruddler's fleet branch. After this small task is completed, Lupin goes to find her scouting partener, Moonrose Stormpaw, among the small crowd of creatures. She spots the mouse nearby, and greets her in a friendly manner._   
  
"'Lo Moonrose. It said on the little list Riala posted that you're going t' be my teammate, so it's a pleasure t' meet ye!"

The mouse followed almost reluctantly, looking back at the sea, and the stone walls that had been her safety and comfort for months. The outside world was fading into a mere shadow, a ghostly demon as frightening as the dark. The albino reached behind her shoulder to feel the cool, damp hilt of her sword, clutching the handle tightly to be sure it was there, then drew her paws into the black tattered fabric of her heavy cloak and began to walk. Her strides were short, almost rushed, as she faught to keep up with the longer-legged beasts around her. She takes the map on her way out, messily folding it and shoving it roughly into her haversack. She then drew her hood over her white-furred face and marched on, searching for a familiar face to stride beside.   
After scouring the crowd with cold rose-coloured eyes, she finally spots a friend. She sprints ahead, her cloak billowing behind her as her nimble paws carry her across the wet grass. She slows her gaite alongside a lean, grey hare and a tall, dark otter. She looks up at them with a grin, glad that they will be accompaning her on her first mission. As she looked up, sunlight filtered in and lit up the shadows that shrouded her face.*   
  
"Hello, Mackbry, Rook. I'm glad your here!" She says cheerily. Before either can respond, an otter maid approaches, introducing herself as Lupin Slipstream.   
  
*The young mouse's head turns sharply to face the newcommer. All sternness reapproaching, she becomes defenseful, mistrustful, but very very curious. List? She had a team mate? This was odd. She made a mental note to listen closely to directions from now on. A partner? Never before had she been paired up. She had worked alone, enjoying the solitude and finishing her tasks the way she saw fit. This would be a new experience, indeed. Giving Lupin an acknowledging nod, she speaks. Though her face has regained its stony composition, her rose-coloured eyes are smiling.*   
  
"'Lo, marm. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name..." She says softly.

A terse nod and a slight spectre of a smile were given in response to Moonrose's greeting, though Rook spoke no words. His haversack was close at paw, and he bent to take it up, slipping the long canvas strap around his neck. His possesions safe with him now, Rook searched the group for his compatriot, Mackbry, only to discover the hare had already taken his leave of the grounds and was already several lofty paces ahead   
  
"Mackbry, wait up!" Rook called as he jogged on after the aged hare.

_Shara joulted out of her train of thought as she saw somebeasts leaving. As she still had not seen Pearl, Shara glanced at the list agains to see who else was on her team. After seeing the name Kuja on the list, Shara blinked her eyes in surprise. Of all the creatures she the knew least, that one had to be on her team. Giving a mental shrug, Shara looked around the encampment to see if the fox had already left. She spotted him in a corner of the barracks. With a slight heave, Shara placed the bags on herself, one on each of her sholders with the strap going diagonally across her chest. After closing her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself, Shara strode across the encampment, thinking of what to say as she went along. As she finally reached the fox, all the brilliant ideas for opening statements fled her mind and she said while offering a paw to Kuja,_   
"Hello, my name is Shara Khaari. I think we're in the same team."   
  
_Mentally she cursed herself on the lame statement. Of course they were in the same team. What an obviously stupid remark. However, Shara tried to make up for it by looking Kuja straight into the eyes and giving the most sincere smile she could manage._

_Tel took in a deep breath as the cool winds of the North ruffled his headfur. Although the hare felt energized and ready for the mission, he felt somewhat empty. His partner had not shown up at the grounds and now he found himself, back to the Fort, leaving her behind. A nagging feeling of regret stayed with the hare as he glanced at the map in his right paw. He had been so looking forward to making a good new matie on the trip.*_   
  
Oh well...I suppose there's pleanty of other beasts here at any rate wot!   
  
_*The red brown hare muttered softly to himself as he carfully folded the map and stuffed it tightly into his jerkin pocket. Trying to take his mind from his partnerless position the hare looked at the ground out in front of him. Instantly he was glad for the leather bindings around his footpaws. Jagged rocks protruded up through the tall grass, making for difficult treading. __  
  
As he continued to walk, Tel spotted Riala and the fox, treading near the front of the assembly of beasts moving north. Picking up a quick jog he made his way towards the pair. Tel nodded and smiled to Riala as he came beside her. He spoke in a jovial tenor voice, tinted by a hint of sterness, a mood that few besides the hare species could muster._   
  
Good day fer a mission eh? Should be excitin!

_Mack flashed a quick smile down at Moonrose, tipping his cap in greeting to the white mouse._   
  
"G'mornin' to you, missie. Trust y'slep well, eh wot? Can't rightly say if'mn I m'self slept, travelin' once again does rouse one's soul. Well, s'pose I'll see you sometime this afternoon, tis scoutin' fer me an' ol' Rook here fer the mornin'. G'day to you, m'gel."   
  
_The hare swept off his cap and rubbed his paw through his headfur as Rook caught up to him. With a wink, he replaced the cap to its rightful position and shifted his spear to make jogging more comfortable. Mack quickly judged the area of the sun, they were to head north._   
  
"Right Rook, s'pose we're t'be off, have t'warm up those paws of yorn, too long on a ship. Course I can't say much more fer m'self, not exactly runnin' laps about the fort like I twouldn't in my younger days, but twill have to see what the day brings. Off we go."   
  
_Mack waved a final goodbye to the beasts heading out of the main gate before starting off at a slow lope towards the woodlands, careful to keep a steady pace both to stay level with Rook and to save his energy._

**The male fox, hastily followed Riala in the early northern morning. The sun was rising slowly, as the soft dew on the grass was trampled underpaw by the many beasts rushing to the gate. ****  
  
Kuja walked at his own pace, not too slow to be left behind, nor too fast to be ahead. His ebony footpaws treaded the wet ground silently, and his movements themselves were stealth-like, and could hardly be heard.**   
  
_...We are leaving then, some may return, and but some may not. Let us hope that all return safe and unharmed..._

**When he had finished reorganizing his things, Cinder got up and went to select his carpentry tools. After finding room for them in his haversack, he saw the list tacked to the door and scanned it a couple of times to see how everyone was paired.**   
  
"Moontouch and Tann ... huh Shara, Kuja, and Riala ..." he thought out loud to himself.   
  
**He turned as he heard Riala's order to move out, then took one last glance at the list before heading towards the gate. Keeping to the rear of the group, Cinder took one of the remaining maps from the pile. He took a minute to study it before putting it away. Cinder's head jerked back when he saw how many waystations were planned to be built.**   
  
"Eleven, wow! I didn't think it was going to take this long."   
  
**Looking up from the map he noticed he was falling behind. With a small hop-skip, he started into a jog to catch up. As he did, Cinder folded up the map and reached around his back for his haversack to put the map away. He slowed to a walk when he caught up and scanned the group for Moontouch. He remembered the black otter because of her similar hasty entrance, when she reported to Riala this morning.**

**Brooke still trying to shake the sleepy feeling from her quickly strides up to pick up a couple of rustic tools, kneeling down to shove one into her traveling bag and one into Kalen's. After she stands up she leaves the belongings sit on the ground and jogs over to grab two maps, folds them neatly then places them carefully into each of their bags. Even though Kalen was young Brooke wanted him to be able to follow along with the maps so that he would be able to learn how to navigate his way around in case they got separated somehow.**   
  
**She had a lot weighing on her mind, thinking about the responsibility of having Kalen now and concerned about his safety. But pushing the negative thoughts aside she nods to Kalen and starts up to Riala's right flank as ordered by her.**

_Suddenly, Kuja left Shara and walked off toward the gate, headed in the direction of Riala. Shara blinked a few moments in surprise, apparently he hadn't even noticed she was there! Muttering to herself about the need to wear brighter colors to be seen, Shara ran off after Kuja. __  
  
He was a fast walker, at least as far as Shara was concerned since she was left far behind. Clamping her jaws together, she firmly headed towards his direction. As she finally reached him, Shara noticed he seemed to be daydreaming, perhaps about the mission ahead. Maybe she shouldn't disturb him... 'Oh well,' she thought resolutly to herself, 'He can think about the mission later.'   
  
Shara steeled herself for the unexpected as she firmly tapped Kuja on the sholder and waited to see if he would respond._

Moontouch had been dozing, leaning against a wall when she heard the faint sounds of someone giving orders and her name said. She blinks sleepily and looks around. She jumps up and grabs her bag and a tool and her chestbelt and swords. She trips over a strap of her chestbelt and falls over with a thud. She holds back curses as she gets to her footpaws and hops in place, pulling her leg free from the black leather strap. She then jogs after the others, slipping her chestbelt on and making sure her swords were secure and wouldn't fall out. Without looking down, she pushes items in her bag over with a paw and shoves the tool she had grabbed into the empty space. She catches up to Cinder and grins broadly.*   
  
I wasn't late! I was...err...right behind ya's!   
  
*she grins innocently and slows her pace to his. She pushes her fluffy head fur from her eyes.*

_Waving back at Moontouch, Tann bounded back and helped her up. Grinning he asked_,"Well, Moony, what'd do ya think of me fer a team membe'? I've never done this before so ya gotta help me out."

*she blushes slightly as she finds that she was seen to trip over her chest belt strap. She grins broadly to hide her embarassment. She excepts his help gratefully.*   
  
Er..Thanks, mate. Well, it'll be an experience! I'm sure it'll all work out grand if we work together!   
  
*she winks cheekily, her embarassment ending. She definetely was going to try her best not to slip up on the way as she had this morning. *   
  
I'll 'elp ya out. We were all new at one point or another.   
  
*she grins and checks her haversack as she trudges cheerfully along.*

_After her initial greeting, Lupin senses something like a want for solitude around Moonrose. She repeats her name, but wonders if she should start anymore conversation, knowing that patrols weren't the best place for loud and careless chatter, and that her new teammate might not want her to._   
  
"M'name is Lupin Slipstream. I hope this mission goes well for all of us......"

_Kalen takes his map and starts trying to figure it out. He's used to guiding himself by landmarks, and once Brooke points out a few, he's quite able to follow the map._   
  
Isn't this exciting, mommy?   
  
_Most of the time he walks next to Brooke, but now and then he takes a quick run around everyone, for their amusment, and to try and calm himself down a bit._

Moonrose strided along silently, nodding absentmindedly to Lupin. She didn't mean to be ignorent or crude to the otter, it was just that she had a lot on her mind. Understanding, Lupin gave a small wave and slowed her stride, leaving the mouse to walk alone.   
Her solitude granted, the albino could feel a strange leap in her heart. The smell of the thick forest foilage was ever so familiar, and she once again felt a sort of recklessness that she had when she had traveled alone. Her hood shrouding her pale-moon face, she felt nearly invisible.   
Silent as a ghost, she watches the day's activities unfold. A young otter scampers around the group, and Moonrose watched in curiosity, her sharp rose-coloured eyes following his every movement. The young beast never strayed far from the blonde ottermaid, and he often returned to grasp her paw for security reasons.   
Recognizing the ottermaid, she quickens her pace to catch up to them. She grins out of her hood at the blonde otter, her voice cheery now that she'd found another of her friends.   
  
"Hallow, Brooke! Good t' see you," Her gaze then follows the younger otter's movements as he scampers about. "Looks like you have a friend, there."

**Brooke kept a determined expression on her face a she embarked out into the unknown region. But she is soon approached by Moonrose and it shortly became apparent to her that she was not as alone as she felt. When the albino mouse cheerfully greeted her the determined look in her emerald green eyes converted to one of alleviation, almost as though all of her tense feelings just left her completely.**   
  
***Hey ther Moonrose, How's it goin' fer ya' so far? Yes I certainly found a friend and a son in Kalen, I adopted him ya' know. So ya' can help me keep a watchful eye on him. Without him knowin' of course.***   
  
**She gives Moonrose a wink, knowing that she can rely on her for all of her support and assistance.**   
  
***Well Kalen and I have ta' be leavin' ya, our orders are ta' scout right flank and that is what we need ta' do. Hope ta' see ya soon friend.***   
  
**Laying her paw on Moonrose's shoulder she struts off to the right of their path and motions for Kalen to come with her.**

_Tann grins his winning smile and walks along with her whistling a little tune. Twirling his haversack, he danced a little jig, bounding off into the unknown. Well, he thought, this sure is gonna a great day. Looking back at Moontouch, he flushed secretly. What am I doing? he thought. Looking back at Brooke, he shook his head. I am so lost...._

Moon switches from whistling to humming, but breaks out into laughter as she watches Tann. She digs in her haversack and pulls out some scones she had packed because she hadn't eaten anything that morning because of rushing. She tosses one to Tann and bites into her's. She swallows and calls after Tann.*   
  
Believe me, mate! Ya better dance jigs like that! Yer bound to trip and falls, bumping into someone, falling...Er...You get the picture!   
  
*she laughs and jogs up to where he was and grins broadly, eyes twinkling. She hardly noticed the soreness in her shoulder now that they had started out.*

_Tann caught the scone in his paws, and avoided Moon's eyes saying_," Thankee, I was kinda hungry. Mmmpphhh, these are really good. Did you make them? MMmmmmppphhhh!" looks at his jerkin and grins.   
_Crumbs are all over it and he quickly brushes them off, a embarrassed flushed look in his eyes._

_Moontouch _shrugs her shoulders, feeling a small wave a pain run down her right arm. She rubs her shoulder a couple times before leaving it be again, almost droppign her haversack.*   
  
No. I'm not too much of a cook. I'd probably burn them. I pinched them warm from the kitchen when I past it on the way to the platoon 4.   
  
*she grins broadly and looks at Tann who was averting his gaze from her. So she quiets down, thinking she might be talking a bit too much. So she silently walks along, every now and again looking down at her footpaws or adjusting a stap to her chestbelt. She looks up and through the trees sees a small glint of sunlight. She flicks at her earrings in her left ear with her left paw, hearing them click together softly.*

_A sigh escapes his lips as he looks around the trees gently swaying back and forth. Closing his eyes, he let the peace and security of the forest fill around him. Walking still, he walks smack into a large oak, making a deep, hollow sound. A groan pursed it's way out as he fell onto the ground, dazedly looking around._   
  
"Ooooooohhhhhhhh! Me pore blinkin' face. It's ruined." he said seeing stars before his eyes.

*Moontouch hadn't been paying attention, lost in her own thoughts to notice that Tann was going to walk into a tree. She hears the sound of Tann's head coming in hard contact with the tree and she winces, turning around to watch him fall over. She walks slowly back, her face full of concern and alarm.*   
  
Tann mate! Are you okay?   
  
*she blinks twice and offers her black paw to help him up.*

_Tann's heart skipped a beat as he saw her helping himself up. Sigh... Tann looked at her straight in the eyes, gazing at her. Shaken by her voice he gets up and says_ Thankee, Moony. That was kinda stupid of me."

Moontouch smiles cheekily and shakes her head knowingly. She had done plenty of stupid things and what he had done could hardly compare.*   
  
Believe me, Tann...I've done quite a few stupid things! And that wasn't stupid! I've tripped and fallen in hidden holes, fell flat on my face, knocked beasts over.   
  
*she blushes slightly at her clumsiness. She hands him another scone from her bag, this one honey covered.*   
  
Er...I'm kinda clumsy sometimes...So don't worry about bumpin' into a tree...er...Take fer example me trippin' over me chestbelt strap...   
  
*she makes sure that he was okay and they began to walk so that they wouldn't lose the others.*

Tann bounds after her, puffing noticeably*   
  
"So, 'leven stations. Whew! That's gonna take a long time."   
  
*a determined look goes into his eyes*   
  
"But ah'm ready fer anything."   
  
*grips his haversack tighter and thinks about how many adventures there was ahead*

The black otter lets a smile creep across her face. More and more was she beginning to like the otter. She chuckles softly as she listens to him rambling on. She flicks her earrings with her paw again and looks to her right to see Tann walking beside her.*   
  
A long way indeed, mate! But we kin sure make it if we try our 'ardest!   
  
*Moontouch lets a breeze ruffle her fluffy headfur softly, before running a paw through it. She closes her eyes for a moment and opens them, staring straight ahead.*

_Tann silently watches Moontouch and puts a paw on her shoulder. Feeling a slight bump he pulls back and looks at her._   
  
"Are you hurt? I hope I didn't do anything." he asked with a look of deep concern.

Riala frowns as she looks over the list of who is teamed with who. She hates to have to rearrange it- it messes up schedules and teams- but she has little choice. Teltoli will have to team up with Shara, since both of their partners decided not to show up... but that throws the teams off. Perhaps if she made that group of three a whole team... She nods reluctantly to herself. She scrawls notes on the list - a difficult thing to do while walking - and then reads over her revised paper.   
  
_1a. Major General Mackbry Taffellappen __  
1a. Vice Admiral Rook Scarbin   
  
1b. Boatswain Kalen Rune   
1b. First Mate Brooke Briar   
  
2. Admiral Moontouch Icebrink   
2. Corporal Cinder Elmcreek   
2. Seabeast Tann Swiftcreek   
  
3a. First Mate SilverRose Brighteye   
3a. Boatswain Landin McGregor   
  
3b. Major General Teltoli Riverbuck   
3b. Guard Shara Khaari   
  
4a. Major General Riala Goldentail   
4a. Sergeant Kuja   
  
4b. Brigadier General Moonrose Stormpaw   
4b. Second Mate Lupin Swiftstream _  
  
She shakes her head slightly. Hopefully Moonrose and Lupin won't object to being teamed up with a fox... She'll have to inform everybeast about the change. Now? Yes, that'd probably be best...   
  
The squirrel slows her pace, letting the foremost fortbeasts move ahead of her until she's beside Cinder. Moontouch and Tann are nowhere in sight, and she doesn't see them until she turns around and searches the very rear of the patrol, where they're walking quickly, apparently to catch up. She shrugs and turns to the other squirrel. "I'm having to change teams around, since twobeasts didn't show up. When the rest of your group catches up, I'd appreciate it if you'd inform them that you three are a single team now - team 2. That okay?"

**Cinder noticed Riala slowing her pace, but didn't think much of it. Well, until she stopped right next to him and matched his pace. His mind went racing as he tried to figure out why she stopped next to him. ****  
  
'... was it something I did? ... did I forget something?' He thought to himself, as he started to tense up.   
  
He listened closely as she spoke, the tension slowly draining from his body, as he heard the actual reason she came to talk about. He gave the new list a quick glance to see the rearranged groups before replying,**   
  
"Sure thing, I'll let'm know as soon as they get here."   
  
**He gave a short nod, to confirm her order, then turned his head to try and see where Tann and Moontouch were.**

Moontouch grins and shakes her black head softly and looks foreward, seeing as how Riala had stopped to talk to their other team member. She shrugs her shoulders.*   
  
Nah! Ya didn't do it, mate. I kinda...fell out of me bunk this morning and then ran into the wall when I tried to dodge some...er...beasts in the hall....   
  
*her voice trails off as she grabs Tann's paw and pulls him along faster.*   
  
Come on, mate! We're gonna lose them if we don't catch up.   
  
*When the reach Riala and Cinder she lets go of Tann's paw and looks uncomfortable.*   
  
Er...sorry 'bout that, mate. I don't like being behind all the time and I didn't wanna leave ya behind...

The squirrel glances at Moontouch and Tann, then at her list, and then shrugs. They'll be on the trail for quite a while; it's not as if there's any great hurry to tell the others of the changes to the teams. She nods to both otters in silent greeting. "I've changed the teams around, as twobeasts didn't show up," she explains, getting straight to the point. "All three of you are one entire team now, rather than being one half of team two. You're now team 2, rather than team 2a." She holds up the list for them to check if need be.

Moon scans the list to make sure that she had everything packed into her brain. She had lots of things in her mind, including items from her past that she had lost or disgarded. She nods her head curtly and smiled slightly. She salutes and grins.*   
  
Yes, Marm! I think I got it all packed into my 'ead!

Tann smiles at Moontouch but is disappointed when she lets go of his paw. Turning to her, he grinned sheepishly shaking his head*   
  
"'s all right, Moon, ah didn't mind."adding when she was out of range,"Not at all."   
  
*Turning to Riala, he bent over the list and scrunched his brow up tight*   
  
"We're just one team now? Does that mean we hav'ta do twice the work? I wouldn't mind though," he said looking over at Moontouch.

**Cinder suppressed a small laugh at the sight of two otters when they approached. A smile shot across his face when he heard the male otter's reply to the new list.**   
  
"Probably, don't ya think we can handle it?" He asked as he winked at the stranger.   
  
"Your Tann, right? I'm Cinder Elmcreek, nice ta' meet 'cha."   
  
**Cinder turned to offer Tann his right paw, as he studied his new partner.**

_Tann ears prick up at the mention of his name, he turns around to see a lithe squirrel studying him. His eyes scanned the squirrel, who was built strongly and looked to be a good fighter. Taking the squirrel's paw, he shook it strongly, his face breaking into a giant grin._   
  
"Pleased ta meetcha, mate. Can hardly wait till we get to the first waystation.'   
  
_There he turned his head as if remembering some thought. Looking at Moontouch he asked_," Do ya know him?"

Riala forces a thin smile at Moontouch's words, the expression twisting her scarred features into a macabre mask. "I'm no 'marm'," she says in her rough voice. "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other in the next few weeks. Formality shouldn't be necessary."   
  
Gold-brown eyes flick to Tann as the otter speaks, the twisted not-smile fading into the impassivity that was the squirrel's normal expression. "No, you won't have to do twice the work," she tells him. "You were already a larger than normal group as it was; now you've just one less than the rest. Will it be a problem?"

"Nah, was just wonderin', that's all." Tann said his shifting eyes searching the immobile squirrel.

_Tel gazed silently around at the forest, yawning open before the party he was travelling with. He watched the young otter bound his way around the group. So much energy, a grand thing it was! Tel felt a youthful spirit enter his oen heart as he treaded towards the back of the group. As he looked forward, he noticed Riala scrawling onto a peice of parchment. The hare picked up a steady dog trot until he was along side the squirrel. He spoke in his warm tenor voice, winking a deep hazel eye at her.* _  
  
I say wot! Changing up the ol' rankings, sounds good teh me. Didn't much like the prospect of goin partnerless the entire way...Shara eh? Met her breifly a few nights ago, nice gel she is.   
  
_*The hare stopped speaking suddenly as he realized he had been rambling*_   
  
If'n yah need anythin jest give the word Riala...   
  
_*Tel then slowed his pace consiterably and scanned the area for his new partner. Upon spotting the otter, he made his way over to her. Nodding, Tel made his greeting* _  
  
A bally fine day teh yah marm, from the looks o the new roster seems me an yah er' partners now! I belive we've met afore, I remeber yah from the bon fire a few night hence!

Riala nods to Teltoli as he walks up and looks over her shoulder at the new list. The barest hint of a smile tugs at her mouth as he jogs off after the rush of words, with her unable to get a word in edgewise - such a typical hare. Well, at least she doesn't have to inform Shara and Teltoli about the changes now, since the hare took it upon himself to find out... but she'd better tell Kuja, Moonrose, and Lupin of the change as well. When they camped, she'd pin the list up somewhere so everybeast could refer to it, but until then, these were all that needed to be informed.   
  
She hikes back over to her partner and nods to the fox in greeting. "I've had to change the teams around," she says. "You and I are still partners, but we're teamed with Moonrose and Lupin now, rather than Shara and Pearl. Is that okay with you?"

_Surprised at hearing herself addressed, Shara turns around, drawing her well-used sabre, as she tends to do when startled. But upon seeing the hare standing next to her, she sheaths her weapon with an apologetic grin. She thought to herself, 'He looks familar,' then mentally kicked herself. Of course he looked familar, he was at the bonfire a few nights ago. How silly of her to forget, especially since he just mentioned meeting her at the fireside. __  
  
'Calm down Shara,' she thought to herself,'He's friendly enough and he's your partner, so no need to get excited.'   
  
Mentally steeling herself, Shara hitched up her somewhat dusty bags and calmly stated,_   
  
"No need to call me marm, I be not that old. Simply Shara will do."   
  
_She gave a small smile a offered her paw to the friendly hare and said,_"I be somewhat new here ta Fort Ruddler, so I'll be apologizing in advance for anymistakes I might make. I'm not exactly used to working with a partner."

_Lupin follows the large patrol group along, not saying much. Moonrose seemed to be a rather solem creature, perhaps prefering to talk to creatures she knows better. Lupin drops to the mid-back of the gathering just in time to see Tann run smack into a tree. She chuckles a bit, and waits a few seconds to see if he's okay. He pops up quickly, and Lupin returns her attention to Riala, who is scribbling on the list paper. The squirrel then goes and talks to several creatures, though Lupin isn't quite sure what about. She begins to make her way to the front again, not wanting to lost out on any important information._


	10. Wayside Patrol - Day 1 - Afternoon

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a huge IC mission roleplayed out by many different players.  I haven't edited anything (spelling, grammar, tense, post order, etc) yet, and I might not get around to it for a while simply because this is such a long thread.  I hoe you can still follow it._

_ The only character I wrote the part of was Riala, although NPCs such as Loam and the hedgehog tribe and the leveret were written mostly by me, occasionally by other people.  Also, mid-plot, Moontouch and Brooke left Fort Ruddler and didn't get the chance to post as their characters before leaving._ Wayside Patrol – Day 1 – Afternoon 

Morning grows older, advancing close to noontide with the sun well on its way to its peak in the sky. It's the cold sun of the north, giving off little enough heat even in the mid-spring, when more southern lands would be enjoying a pleasantly mild warmth. Instead, a slight breeze stirs the chilled air, sweeping it into the faces of the patrollers.   
  
The advance scouting party, still consisting of Mackbry, Rook, Brooke, and Kalen, reaches a small stream just as the sun reaches its apex, silently signalling the change in scouting teams. The brook is scarcely deserving of the name, not nearly large enough to be marked on the map carried by most of the fortbeasts on the mission. The sparse brush of this northern plain has taken advantage of the unfrozen water, gathering thickly about the muddy banks. Tracks can be seen clearly in the soft earth: the usual array of bird tracks alongside other tracks... four-clawed pawmarks, smaller than a hare's but larger than a mouse's.   
  
The bushes rustle slightly behind the scouting team, and four well-aimed projectiles fly through the air, accompanied by a quickly-stifled giggle. The distinctly wet _splat_ as the missiles land mark them clearly as... mudballs?!

"I say, seems we're not the only beasts out here, eh wot? Squirrel tracks mayhap, what do y'think Rook?" _Mack stared down at four-clawed tracks that lay before the scouting team. Certainly he was no expert tracker, but seasons of traveling teaches a good many things to a beast._   
  
"Hmm, well, the next team should be along in some time, pr'aps one of the lads in that team twill know what they are." _Mack fell silent as the rustling of bushes behind him caught his attention, likely the next team he thought to himself. The gray hare began turning to his right to greet what he thought to be the new team that was to relieve them._   
  
"Very good, hope one of you c-" _Splat! The mudball took Mack fully by surprise as it slammed into the hare's lower right jaw, shaking him and almost throwing him off balance. Mack stumbled backward and opened his mouth to shout out something, but mud filled it instead. He coughed and sputtered, desperately trying to blow mud from his nose and spit it out of his mouth. __  
  
As soon as both nose and mouth were at least parcially free of mud, Mack's instincts took over._ "Rook!" _The elderly hare lept towards Brooke and Kalen, unsure as to how the young one would handle such a situation._ "Brooke, get Kalen under cover! Rook, c'mon, watch their backs!"   
  
_Mack turned his back towards Brooke and Kalen and raised his spear into a fighter's stance as he glanced sharply in the direction the mudballs had been thrown from. Mudballs may have been the only thing that was to come their way, but one could not be sure._

Himself having taken the oppurtunity to catch his vagrant breath, Rook was alerted to the presence of several mischevious intruders by the distinct sound of bankmud hitting the grassy earth with sound, unpleasent splatters. One of the offending objects hit quite near to his left foot, dotting his leg with tiny flecks of moist sand and soil. With Mack's voice rising steadily in his erect ears, Rook drew forth his glinting steel blades and held them at ready, backing towards the stream with a crossed scowl on his scarred face   
  
"For the sake of whomever is tossing these, they'd best retreat before finding more mud becomes the least of their worries. How are you doing there, Mackbry? I saw you eat one."

Breathing heavily under the heat from the suns rays Brooke and Kalen are coming up to the other part of their team when all of a sudden Brooke gets hit by a mudball *SMACK!* right in the left cheek. She hears Mack and Rook trying to make them aware of the incoming fire but she was a little late in the ducking, but manages to cover Kalen up with her body. Although Mack was standing in front of Brooke and Kalen another one sneakes by the elder Hare and slams right into her right ribcage, her muscles tightening up with the stinging that accompanied the blow. She tries to look over the brook to see if she could get a glimse of the culprit, but had little success since she was still shielding Kalen from the air-born mud missiles.   
  
*Owch, mate that hurt. Me heard the rustling of them ther' bushes but I just figured that it was just you two beasts out scoutin'.*

_The hare instintivly moved back as Shara whipped around, a blade appearing in her paw. Not wanting to startle her further, Tel held out his paws in front of his body, showing he was not armed. He smiled winningly, hoping to put his new partner at ease. _  
  
I say, no need tah be alarmed miss! Tis only me, yer new partner.   
  
_* The hare stepped forward, once Shara had realised Tel meant no harm. He took a quick liking to the otter as she spoke casually after shaking paws. * _  
  
Well, no "marm" then eh wot! I tend tah call all beasts o the female persuasion by that term...old an young...   
  
_*Tel grins slyly.*_   
  
Guess I'll have tah stop that habit wot! I'll call yah Shara then, an yah kin call me Tel, er' Tello, er any variation o that name...   
  
_*The hare's jovial speech trailed off as he placed a paw to his brow, straining to peer into the distance. He could barly make out a ridge before a supposed river bank...and almost make out the sounds of stuggle coming from that area.* _  
  
I say, whot deh yah suppose is going on ovah there Shara?

The fox trots alongside the other beasts watching the younger beasts excitedly talk. The spring air carries the scents and sound of beasts laughing, it could give them away.   
  
_...thier shouts could give this group away, but what am I to say? I was young once too..._   
  
The fox winced as one of the male otters, the one called Tann collided with an oak tree. He rushed over to the fallen otter and helped him up, his face showing concern as he joked.   
  
"Be careful. You don't want to end up with an ugly face like me!"

_Moontouch grins broadly and she giggles. She rumbles in her bag again for another one of the scones she had swiped and she offers one to Kuja.*_   
  
Poor Kuja! Complainin' he's got an ugly face! Would Kuja like a nice scone? I got them from the kitchen this mornin'. Me and Tann have already sampled some.   
  
  
_She waves the scone under Kuja's nose, grinning broadly and eyes twinkling. While holding the scone toward Kuja with one paw, she uses her other one to try and organize the rest of her stuff which she had hastily stuffed into the bag that morning._

_Tann's eyes light up when the friendly fox rushes to help him up. Taking the Kuja's paw offered to get up he said_," Thankee, bu' ah dunno if ah'll ever have a face a ugly a yours." _he joked, his eyes twinkling with merriment. Looking at the fox, he noticed a kind of air around him, almost like a mercenary air. Funny..._

Another belatedly smothered giggle sounds from the bushes as Mack gets a mudball right in the face, and the bushes rustle as the culprit tries to make his escape. Sunlight gleams on mud-brown quills as the creature passes through a slight gap in the brush. A hedgehog, and only the one. From the quick glimpse the scouting party gets of the mudballer, they can probably see that he's no adult- a child, yet. He picks up speed as if sensing he's been seen, the leaves rustling against each other with the jostling of his unskilled passage.

Riala's rust-gold tail flicks in vague annoyance as Kuja completely ignores her. She'd have to assume he heard what she said, then - she certainly wasn't going to chase after the fox to tell him of the change in teams. She turns her attention back to the trail, taking silent note of some things that she'd have to suggest for the patrols that would probably follow this initial one. Fewer creatures, for one... a group of four would probably do quite nicely for a single patrol team. No helping this one's size, though - they need all the creatures for the building of waystations...   
  
Tufted red-brown ears flick forward at the sounds of a disturbance ahead on the trail, barely audible above the chatter of the patrollers. The scouting team, in some sort of trouble? That's the first thing that goes through Riala's mind, and she quickens her pace. Better not to rush onto the scene, but she needed to get to where she could observe and then decide what action was needed. She dashes up a stunted tree to better see over the brush, but all she sees from her vantage point is the four scouts, splattered with mud. Gold-brown eyes dart to the side as she half-sees, half-senses movement, and sights a young russet-brown hedgehog racing through the dubious cover of the brush.

_In response to Tel's question, Shara squints ahead at hearing the noise, then moves further up, saying_   
"I'm not sure, seems like some sort of-"   
  
_Shara breaks off in startlement as a mudball out of nowhere sails and hits her in the eye. With a muffled oath, Shara wipes of the mud to see a hedgehod, a young 'un no less!, running of and chuckling to itself. Her eyes narrow and Shara mutters_   
"Oh no you don't!"   
  
_Picking up some mud from the streambed, Shara forms a little ball with the mud and sets it flying toward the creature. The mud hits the headhog right on the head with a sickening splat causing the hedgehog to stumble and slow down a bit. Shara gracefully dives into the stream and comes up on the other side with extra mudball in her paw, just in case, and her clothes sopping wet. Shara looks down at her clothes with a faint hint of distain, then looks around for the hedgehog, who was just a small distance from her. With a few easy strides, Shara jogs up to the youngster and casually addresses him saying,_   
"I say, no need to be a'throwing mudballs herebouts."   
  
_The youngster throws a quick glance at her and keeps running, his eyes wide with excitement at this 'new game.' Shara's brow furrows in annoyance and she quickly grabs the young 'un's tunic, forcing him to a halt, stating,_   
"Kindly explain yerself."   
  
_The hedgehog begins to squirm in response, and Shara, not having much experience with younsters and seeing Brooke, yells in a slightly confused voice as the hedgehog squirms free and continues to run onward,_   
"Brooke?! He's headed your way!"

Brooke is still crouched down covering Kalen with her slender body, but she hears the stiffled giggle and through a slight break in the brush witnesses the spikey quills of what looked to be a young menacing Hedgehog. Quickly she ties her skirt to one side of her thigh and pulls her dagger out in case she comes in contact with other hostile beasts. Taking off like an arrow shot from a bow she darts across the stream. Brooke is quick and agile so she assumed that it would be best for her to be the one to grab the perpetrator. Running through the bushes, some of them prickely, Brooke gets quite a few scrapes along the way. But finally after dodging hanging boughs from trees and fallen dead ones she manages to reach out with her paws to snatch the little beast by the scruff of his shirt collar. She then walks him back to Rook and Mack to see what they wanted to do with him.   
  
*Sorry guys didn't want to be a damsel in distress, got ta' pull me own weight in this here unit ya' know. So this is the culprit, what do ya' want to do with him?*   
  
Standing there waiting for them to decide what to do she slides her dagger back into it's sheath and then rubs what seemed like sweat on her cheek bone. Looking at her paw painted with blood she kneels down to the stream and shakes the red liquid off with a quick swish back and forth.

_Lupin reaches the near front of the patrol just in time to see several mudballs go flying, some splattering on various other creatures. She whips out her sling, loaded with a small pebble, in case of any real danger, but relaxes as the sound of dibbunish giggling comes from the bushes. Lupin stands ready to help in case Brooke and Shara need any help securing the miscreant, and waits for Riala to decide if he needs punishment._

Though fleeting, Rook could tell by the a mere glimpse of thin quill and brown fur that this was the work of a child, one who seemed to enjoy both dirt and trouble. Set to take off in pursuit of the small beast, Rook had only moved several steps before a surprised squeak echoed back through the forest's fringe. Brooke emerged, followed by other members of the party. In tow was the culprit, a dibbun hedgehog complete with the telltale mud all over his paws. With deft, seamless movement, Rook slid both his daggers back to their sheaths and stepped forward, his usual monotone taking on an agitated life of it's own   
  
"So, it's just a babe that keeps us at bay with mud, hm? I wonder how he'd like the same treatment."

The young hedgehog squirms in Brooke's grasp, both annoyance and indignation on his cinnamon-furred face. "Lemme go!" he growls with all the ferocioty a near-dibbun hedgehog can muster. "I be Loam Urthspike, th' gurtest wurrior that ever lived! I'll thwack ye wif more muddyballs, an' worse! Lemme go, ye gurt watermutt!"   
  
He glares at Rook, mud-splattered snout twitching furiously. "An' I'm notta 'fraida ye, neither! Doan' like riverdogs, they smell! Phoo! I'm all muddylike now as 'tis, notta 'fraida muddyballs like yebeasts!" He chortles abruptly, quite pleased with himself. "S'funny though! Ye lookin' 'round like I's vermintypes're somethin'! Heehee! An' th' rabbitbeast wif his face all muddy!" He grinned insolently at Mackbry, not the least bit apologetic.

_Tann's conversation with Kuja is cut short when he hears the sounds of a scuffle further down. Running to the scene of the crime, he sees Brooke holding a mud encrusted hedgehog. The hog has much to say and he is impressed by his impudence. He folds his paws into a cross and watched on, his face breaking into a thin grin. Still grinning, he laughed out loud when the hog said his comment to Mack. He tried to stifle it, but it came out sure enough. He looked apologetically at Mackbry and said_," Sorry, mate." _Still grinning, he tried hard not to laugh at the mud covered faces of his friends._

_Mack squinted towards the young hedgehog with annoyance as Brooke brought the runaway dibbun to bay. Loam's insestant giggles did little to improve his mood._   
  
"Well, will y'look at that." _Mack said with a sarcastically bored tone, wiping mud off on the back of his paw. As if trying to clean his paw, the hare shook his paw, a sizable glob of mud landing on the hedeghog's snout._ "My my, dreadfully sorry m'bucko, but they do say _He who digs a hole for his brother will fall into it_." _He said with a shrug. __  
  
However, he was but a dibbun and Mack was not a beast to stay angry. The elderly hare reached forward to pat Rook on the back._ "Aye, I'd not be one t'argue, Rook m'boyo, but youn' 'uns will be youn' 'uns. Now mister," _Mack said as he stared down at Loam over the top of his small, round glasses,_ "mind explainin' yerself? Or do I need t'leave you alone with my friend here?"

Nearing the end of his notoriously short rope, Rook snorted at the notion that he smelled of anything more then otter. His tail tip fidgeted, revealing hidden fury and tension. Though, Rook still was capable of rational thought, which brought an idea into his head. Moving swiftly past Mackbry, he bent his knees to kneel while the youngster continued his struggles against Brooke's firm pawhold   
  
"So, you like mud, huh? Well, little chum, I happen to like clean things. Therefore, you'll be getting a bath if that hare turns you over to me. How would you liked your ears scrubbed?"

Walking in silence for what seemed like eons, the serene surroundings were abrubtly destroyed by a bombardment of mudballs, one of which struck her in the side, spattering her black cloak with dark and wet mud. Stiffening, she heard small squeals close by, and the small mouse sauntered over, dirt dripping off of her old cloak. She listened in the background of things as the little hedgehog babe was interrigated as gently as possible. Brooke held the dibbun firmly by the paw, though he struggled gallently, shouting insults to the surrounding beasts. The mouse was taken aback at the young one's arrogence, and his idle threats to break free. Rook bent near to murmer something to the little one, his face screwed up in frustration. The albino watched in curious silence, studying the babe carefuly from beneith her shadowed veil. _What a bold brat, to be sure_, she thought as she watched the hedgepig stare fearlessly at the strong otter before him. When she could stand the curiosity no more, she dared to venture into the conversation, her cloak still dripping with mud. Leaning down next to Rook, the albino mouse stared with cold, rose-coloured eyes at the young one with her pale face still shrouded in shadows, her hood drawn. Giving the babe a stern look, she gazes at the fearless creature, impressed at his boldness.*   
  
"You've got a mighty strong arm there, young 'un," she says, her voice gruff and grating. "But it tain't nice to be tossing mud at travelers."

Brown-black eyes hold annoyance as Mack splatters Loam with mud. He shakes his head vigorously, sending the mud flying off his long snout and hitting anybeast nearby. "Hmph!" he grumbles in response to the hare's words. "Ye came t'my stream, didn'tcha? S'_my_ stream, not yours! Wotcha doin' 'ere anyhow?"   
  
The hedgehog stares insolently at Rook as the otter crouches in front of him. But his expression changes remarkably at the fortbeast's threat. "YAAAAAAGH!" he yells, backpedalling into Brooke and inadvertantly writhing free of her grip. "Don' wanna ba'f! I _likes_ bein' muddy! Stay 'way from me!" His muddy footpaws pound the grass as he runs right up the trail- and smacks into Moonrose.   
  
Loam shakes his head as if to clear it and looks up at the albino mouse, eyes widening at the sight of her unusual coloring. "Ye're a... a rose-eye!" he gasps, almost reverently. "'Ow's there a rose-eye _mouse_??"

Riala had left her perch in the tree once she'd seen that the hedgehog was caught and her aid wasn't needed. She had bounded up the trail with the curious gait of squirrels, standing nearby and watching with amusement. The squirrel had never really liked dibbuns all that much, preferring to watch them rather than try to keep them in paw, but she couldn't help but give this cinnamon-quilled hedgehog a grudging respect. They were going to have to keep moving, however, and- Wait...   
  
Riala pulls out her notes for the mission, seeing that there was a hedgehog tribe one or two days' hike up the trail. What was this little one doing so far from his tribe, if indeed that was his tribe...? Well, that question could wait a few moments. She wants to watch a while longer before confronting the hedgehog child...

The mouse lowered her face to hide the amusement in her rose-coloured eyes at the young ones wide-eyed curiousity. Maybe she could hold his attention long enough to get some real information out of him... that is, if she had any persuation skills whatsoever... Never the talking type, the albino simply shrugged and lowered her hood so that the hedgehog babe could get a better look. _This should hold his attention..._ she thinks. Trying her best to appear calmer and friendlier, she gave the babe a glimmer of a smile and spoke as gently as she could*   
  
"Y'say this stream is yours?" The mouse asks nonchalontly, her grammer slipping into a more comfortable slang. "Where are your folks, young 'un?"

"Um..." Loam looks away from those eerie ruby eyes as Moonrose questiones him gently. He's not s'posed to lie to a 'rose-eye'; his tribe's legends state that they can sense lies. Certainly his tribe's rose-eye seems to. But he doesn't want to answer her. "M'tribe... um... They's that way." He points down the trail with a grubby cinnamon-furred paw, and then his mouth shuts with a firm click and he stares at the ground, determined not to say any more than that.

The mouse leans back to study the dibbun's face for a moment, as if debating whether he's telling the truth. With an inaudible sigh, she draws her hood back over her face and turns back to the hedgehog, trying to catch his gaze and hoping that the coldness in her eyes had somehow been lessened. The albino noticed that his jaw was locked tight, so she decided not to press him any more on the location of his family.*   
  
"Hmm." She murmurs to herself before continuing in the same soft-spoken voice as before. "Well, young 'un, that still doesn't explain why you were chuckin' mud at us innocent travelers. In my opinion, y' just might owe a few of these beasties an' apology b'fore we letcha go..."

Loam glares sullenly at the group of travelers. "M'sorry," he mutters finally, sounding not at all apologetic. Abruptly his snout twitches and he turns, seemingly for the first time noticing the haversacks carried by several creatures. "Ye've got vittles?" he says, trying to sound casual, but not doing a very good job of covering up the fact that he's hungry... especially as his stomach makes a very suspicious rumbling sound.   
  
Riala's mouth twitches in a vague hint of a smile at the sound. She's almost certain that the hedgehog's tribe is the one down the trail. Probably this little one is a runaway, wanting to not have to go to bed on time or take a bath... The scarred squirrel kneels down to Loam's level and takes an oatcake from her harversack, waving it before him. "Aye, we've food enough," she says with her lilting, near-imperceptible northern accent, "but what makes you think we'll give food to beasts that attack us with mudballs? Hm?"   
  
He scuffs the dirt with one muddy footpaw. "'m sorry," he says again, sounding much more sincere this time. "Won't do it again." He pauses, considering. "If'n I comes with ye, c'n I have food?"   
  
The grin on Riala's red-brown face is more apparent this time. She turns to the rest of the patrol. "What do you think?" she asks conversationally. "Should we let the hedgehog come along?"

_Tann grinned and winked at Riala. Walking up to her, he patted the scarred squirrel's shoulder saying_," Riala, I vote we atke the liddle terror along with us so 'e can git back to his family. What do the rest of ya say?"

Cinder followed Tann up ahead, where the scouting party was attacked. He watched the confrontation, off to the side, his thoughts drifting back to his own dibbunhood, and the trouble he got into himself. Hearing the _sincere_ apology, he broke out of his daze and laughed,   
  
"An apology for food 'eh, I wish I got off that easy when I was his age!" He said as he walked up beside Tann. "I guess there's no real harm done though, but then again, I'm not the one wearing the mud tunic! What da'ya think Mack and Rook?"   
  
He threw a smile towards them both, hoping to smooth over his jab at their misfortune.

The tall lithe fox laughs at Tann's statement. The fur around his peircing eyes crease in laughter. His ears flick around, and all laughter subsides. His eyes narrow as he places a paw on his brow and looks ahead.   
  
Poorly muffled laughter reached his sensitive ears, and Tann had obviously seen the culprit as he hastily tore off towards what from his distance appeared to be a hedgehog.   
  
The fox, took no haste in arriviing on the scene knowing that hedgehogs were friendly beasts, and would not harm another goodbeast.   
  
_...young hedgehog. Methinks that he is a runaway, he looks like a tribal beast..._   
  
The afternoon sun filtered in from the treetops creating soft grey shadows of the leaves above. His right ebony paw strayed slowly to his travelling sack. He stealthily undid the strap, and pulled out his grey cloak. Being good with disguises, the clever fox mischeviously poked the long thorns from a nearby thorn bush through the heavy burlap fibers.   
  
He then pulled out a long strand of grass, and tied his red brushlike tail back so it was hidden out of veiw. He slinked over to the river, and plastered bank mud onto his paws, making him look like an aged hedgehog.   
  
He then walked slowly into the midst of the patrol playing his part well. He squatted in front of the young dibbun, his eyes flashing from beneath the hood. He looked into the hedgehog's eyes almost like he was reading the young one's mind while at the same time smiling.   
  
"Hullo der child. Are ya one o' yon patroller beasties, or is ya one o' dem tribesbeasties?"

"Aye, why not?" _Mack bent down to the young hedgehog's level and smiled at the dibbun._   
  
"'Pology excepted m'laddo. An' food y'get if'n you take us t'yer tribe, rightyo?" _As if to prove a point, Mack pulled from his tunic pocket a few slightly crushed, but just as sweet, candied chestnuts. Just as he reached out to hand the sweets to Loam, a rustling of bushes stayed his paw. __  
  
An elderly hedeghog ambled into the small clearing and began speaking in a heavy accent hedeghogs are often accustomed to. Mack stared suspiciously at the elder. Very skinny chap, Mack thought silently to himself, and very short spikes.   
  
But Mack said not a word, waiting for some sort of explanation from the hedgehog._

Riala laughs dryly as everybeast speaks their thoughts on what to do with the little hedgehog. "Looks like you're coming with us," she tells him. "'Ere." She tosses the oatcake to Loam, who catches it and scarfs it down in record time.   
  
The cinnamon-furred hedgehog munches contendedly on the oatcake, looking resigned as he hears the talk about bringing him back to his tribe. "Yah, yah..." he sighs past a full mouth. "I'll bring ye t'my tribe. T'was fun not 'aving bafs'r bedtimes though..."   
  
He looks curiously at the "hedgehog elder", brown-black eyes holding a glimmer of suspicion at the "hedgehog's" sudden appearance. "'M a tribebeast," he says cautiously, but proudly. Then his long snout twitched, sensitive nose taking in the smells around the "hedgehog." "An' ye smell funny, Elder..."   
  


Rook was the only beast amongst the congregation of travelers who had yet to voice an opinion on whether Loam should be allowed to assimilate into their ranks. Yet, Rook dared not to speak, and instead, resigned himself to crouch by the stream which they would eventually have to cross. That was, if the others could pull themselves away from feeding the nut-furred menaced such valuable viands as those that constituted their rations. Bitter to the taste, his malice would percolate and seep from the fur, for the fates knew he had enough to drown the hedgehog in.

_Lupin also stands silent as the conversation goes on. She is not very outgoing around creatures she doesn't know, and her comrades seemed to be handling the situation quite well. Not to mention handling unruly young creatures had never really been her strong point. Lupin watches carefully as a beast who looks like an elderly hedgehog comes up, but looks twice and finds that he somehow he doesn't look entirely quite right. She also picks up that Rook is at least still slightly annoyed, but keeps her mouth shut._

_The little rouge's not getting any of my vittles..._ runs through the albino's mind as the hedgepig-babe is offered food for his leadership to his tribe. What a foolish thing to do, putting the travelers in the mud-covered paws of a dibbun. But Riala seemed to know what she was doing, so the mouse did not question her.   
  
Refined disc-shaped ears laying back, the mouse inhales the strange-beast's scent, finding it definatly unlike that of a normal hedgehogs. The newly arived hedgepig Elder was giving her a very accute scence of danger. She draws back warily. Pink nose quivering, she bows her head and draws her hood, once again hiding her moon-pale face. Strangers... she didn't trust them, unless they earned her trust. Reverence must be earned, she thinks to herself, hoping to somewhat dissapear amongst the small crowds of beasts. Though her gut instinct was to point through the stranger's disguise, she instead waited for the "hedgehog" to dig himself a hole. Watching and waiting, the young mouse listens to their conversation, hovering like a ghastly phantom awaiting it's hapless victem to take the inevitable wrong turn into its icy embrace.

_Tel had, unlike his usual self, remained quite thorugh most of the ordeal with the hedghog babe. Being one who greatly appreiciated the company of a young one, the kindly hare wished to wait till matters were settled as to what to do with the hog beofre he conversed with him. The hare stood in hock high tall grass growing near the waters edge. Standing on tip paws, and shading his brow from the setting sun, the hare's eyes reflected red gold light as he scanned out over the horizon beyond the strwam. As was his custom for this time of day, Tel began to think of food. He thought silently for a moment and headed slwoly over to where his partner was standing. He came up next to the otter, clearing his throat softly to note his approach. He did not with to take Shara by surprise as he had when he spoke with her days hence.*_   
  
I say Shara, looks to be that you an' I have cooking duty tonight wot! Mayhap we should she bout mixin up some vittles. Couldn't hurt much teh have the babe stay fer one meal, an think it's bout time our comrades had some tuck...whot deh yah think?   
  
_*Tel glanced quickly over to Riala as he waited for a response from Shara, wondering wether the squirrel would think it was a good idea to cook at this time._

Tufted ears prick up as Teltoli mentions cooking, and Riala glances at the sky. The sun is past its zenith but by no means close to the horizon yet. "We've lost enough time already," the squirrel says apologetically to the hare. "Lunch can be eaten on the go... we'll stop at sunset for dinner."   
  
She glances down at the schedule and raises her voice to reach to the entire patrol. "Team 2, you've got scouting duty. SilverRose and Landin, take the left; Teltoli and Shara, you've got the right. We've got to make up for some lost time, so let's go along at a little faster clip, shall we?"   
  
Riala sets off at a quick walk, somewhat slower than she might have if the hedgehog youngster hadn't been coming along. She knows the trail ahead from careful study of maps; she also knows that a semi-nomadic hedgehog tribe makes camp during the spring not far up the trail. Likely, that's Loam's tribe... but an offer of food in pretended exchange for guidance would keep the young hedgehog with them. The Northlands are a dangerous place for younglings...   
  
Her well-trained nose twitches as she passes the "hedgehog elder", and a slight amusement sparks in gold-brown eyes. "You may as well give it up," she murmurs, almost inaudibly, as she passes him. "I doubt anybeast's completely fooled..."   
  
Loam stares about at the bustle around him of the patrol setting off on the trail. As the "hedgehog" still hasn't answered him, he shrugs and waves farewell with a muddy paw and jogs to Moonrose's side. The little cinnamon-furred youngster seems to have latched onto the albino mouse as a companion for some reason... "What ye out 'ere f'r, anyhow?" he asks, curious.

_The elderly hedgehog gave no reply to all the inquires, rousing Mack's suspisions even more. But Riala seemed to have whispered to him as she passed by, and that was enough for the hare. __  
  
Mack jogged until he was level with Rook and kept pace with the otter. _"Well Rook, I've a bit t'eat in my haversack, want a bite fer lunch, m'boyo? Tis what partners be fer, eh wot? B'lieve, if I'm not mistaken, that there be a small flagon of strawberry fizz too, course more cider than fizz,"_ he said with a wink as Rook knew his like for cider_, "but there be fizz all the more."

This supposed elder emoted strangely, and this put an agitated Rook even further on edge. Again, he started to doubt the sensibility of his desicion to take time away from his beloved salt spray and salubrious ocean lullaby. Hares were made for patrols, but not otters as his footpaws were beginning to teach him. Rook never comprehended why Ariel would wear boots to dull the feeling of a gangplank beneath her. Certaintly, he'd never be caught with anything more then beach sand on his paws. However, as he stepped along the well worn, though violently craggy woodland path, he almost wished for the protection provided by sole and tough leather. So encased was he in these thoughts, Rook nearly missed the offer of fizz. Yet, let us keep in mind that this is Rook Scarbin, and no beverage could and would please him more   
  
"Fizz? Errrr...just a bit to settle my stomach, Mackbry. Please, if you don't mind."

_Tel nodded as he heard that he and Shara would be heading out in front to skirt the right of the party. The hare loved to scout and grinned eagerly at his partner as he spoke. *_   
  
I say wot! Nothing like abit of a dog trot teh highten yer senses Shara me gel! Whot say we head off to the right and snack a bit as we walk. Deh yah like maple cakes, soaked in fresh honey. Tis the stuff I tells yah, little goes a long way wot! Think I have a little flagon of rosehip and mint tea teh go with it as well...   
  
_*The hare speaking trails off as he picks up a quick dog trot and heads out to the right of the party, skirting a small ridge line weaving it's way in the same direction the group was heading. Once he had reached the top of the ridge and was a fair way away from the party, Tel reached back and opened his pack, withdrawing a large lump of maple cake wrapped in brown cloth. He breaks off a half paw sized chunk and paws it to his partner. *_   
  
Try some of this Shara, twill give yeh all the energy yah need tah scout wot!

Startled by the young voice nearby, the albino looks down upon the youth in surprise. Though the babe had clearly shown an arrogence and disrespect to match that of a vermin, she couldn't help but be drawn by his wide-eyed curiousity. Still, her mind was totally focused on the imposter hedgehog, who smelled rank.... _Sort of... Sort of like an otter.. . wolverine? ... mink.... no, more like a fox... _her thoughts mumbled incoherant things to her, soft whispers in the back of her mind that she immediately brusshed away without thinking. Instead, she watched the 'hedgehog' intently, never averting her eyes, even when she softly hissed under her breath to silence the questioning dibbun.*   
  
"Shhh, hush now..." She muttered, her rose-coloured eyes fixated on the imposter.

_Despite all that had occurred since they'd left the Platoon Four grounds, Rook was confined to himself. Having decided to catalogue the expedition in the journal which he kept, the otter captain was trying his best to place settings, his seemingly prude silence broken off and on by continual mutterings, namely colors to describe the sinking sun_   
  
"Vermillion....scarlet.....they're the same, dolt............ochre....russet......t'is beautiful pinks......rosy.."

An earsplitting cry halfway between a yip and a howl rents the eerily still silence. Bushes rustle angrily, sending leaves a'fluttering as a large creature stumbles through the thick foliage. Another roar is heard, this one angrier than the first and nearing fast. More leaves fly, littering the ground as the creature rents its way through to the small travelers. It calls out again, and this time words are clearly distincted among the angry growls.*   
  
"BLUUDFUR!!! BLUDFUR, WHERE ARE YE?! BLUUUDFUUUUUUUUR!!!!!!" the beast howls.   
  
*The creature seems to be nearing at a ludicris speed, drawing ever closer to the small clearing. Its angry crys cut through the calm and peacefull setting as its shapless black form becomes slowly visible through the brush.*

_Mack snapped his haversack shut, the raspberry scone he had half been picking at falling to the ground. In an instant the hare's spear was gripped tightly in his paws, pointed in the direction the terrible crys had been issued from and where the bushes shook violently. __  
  
'By the fur', was the thought that raced through his head, 'that beast has to be a giant!' A giant it would it was indeed, its towering black form finally becoming slightly clearer as it drew near. Well that would just not do, with a dibbun in their midst and a job on their paws, vermin would cause havoc.   
  
With only a slight hesitation, Mack stepped forward one pace._ "Halt whoever y'be! We mean no harm, but if'n you bring any I warn you we be armed!"

Large crimson ears perked at the sound, then layed back in anger. Another howl broke loose from the large beast's throat, and without hesitation, the creature leaped into the open, right in front of the travelers. Its narrow muzzle was curled into a snarl to reveal long yellow fangs, its black-tipped tail bristling in anger. Its size was gargantuous, with large white paws tipped in long black claws and a dark ash-coloured hide. Its tawny burlap vest stood sharp against it's dark fur, ripped and tattered from scuffles. Countless rusty throwing daggers hang about the creature's chest and waist, glinting in the sunlight, though with the natural weapons the coyote carried with it, it would hardly need the blades. A growl rose in the canine's throat as it turned to Mackbry to ice him with its glare.*   
  
"I don' care 'bout yore puny threats, lanky-paws! I be 'ere t' reclaim me nephew Bludfur! An' none o' you strangers c'n stop me!!!" The coyote howled again. "BLUUUUUUDFUUUUURR!!!"   
  
*The creature's amber eyes were glazed over in rage, and it darted about, black nose twitching as it searched for its missing charge.*   
  
"A'rright, y' craven currs! !Where is 'e?!?!?!" The coyote demanded, its large ears standing up indignantly.

The hooded albino tenses immediatly, large ears picking up every sound as the creature approaches. Reaching behind her, Moonrose draws her double-bladed sword and attains a warrior's stance, ready. Moving so that Loam stood behind her, she growled low in her throat, preparing for the worst.

_Cinder was working his way forward in the group to reach his new partners Mack & Rook, when he heard the first howl. He stopped in his tracks and crouched slightly, to hear where the noise was coming from. Sensing danger, he immediately had his sling out, loaded, and twirling ready for the creature. He saw Mack take a defensive posture up ahead, so he ran up behind Mack help cover him. __  
  
The squirrel eyed the canine cautiously, listening to his demands._   
  
"We haven't seen your nephew, or any beast like your self around here." _His voice sounding slightly annoyed as he spoke up in the patrol's defense._

"Back yerself up, scraggle-snout!" _Mack bellowed, unsure of the beast's species. The hare brandished his spear with a practiced ease, slowly stepping to his left so he stood closer to the coyote's left side than right, a few muttered words explained his movements._ "Cinder, watch his right."   
  
_A low growl started in the elderly hare's throat, although butterflies raged through his stomach at the sight of the coyote's daggers; spears did little again objects that could be thrown._   
  
"Back up I said! We ain't got yer cousin, don't even have a fox, so scram!"

_Lupin is a bit surprised as the bushes begin to shake, and a large creature leaps from their cover. It is fox-like, but larger, and Lupin has never seen the likes of such a beast before. At its harsh demand for its relation, Lupin reaches for a stone to fit to her sling, in case there is any trouble. She knows her sabre will be useless if the coyote decides to attack Mack and Cinder._

The beast's large crimson ears stand up indignantly at the onslaught of insults from the lesser creatures, and the coyote emmitts another angry roar. Dark amber eyes dart around between the hare and the squirrel, eyeing their blades cautiously. With a snarl, the yote turns on Mackbry, eyes flashing dangerously.*   
  
"I'll scraggle-snout you, rabbit!" the coyote growls, bristling in rage.   
  
*The canine reaches for one of its many daggers, but suddenly pauses, its nose twitching as it inhales a familiar scent. The creature wanders about, sniffing noisily as it moved, the hare and squirrel forgotten. Eyes flashing, it stops in front of the hooded albino. The canine towers over the tiny mouse, growling angrily.   
  
The mouse growls back, standing her ground over Loam and sheilding the youngster with her body. Sword ready, she glares back with icy rose-coloured eyes, snarling up at the crazed coyote.*   
  
"Stand back, I warn you..." Moonrose twitches her sword slightly, her head tilted back at a crazy angle just so she could look the monsterous beast in the eye. "We don't have your Bloodfur."   
  
*The coyote does not falter at the menacing blade, and leans down slightly to point a claw at the tiny hedgehog dibbun peeking out from behind the folds of the mouse's skirt.*   
  
"An' 'edgepig took me Bludfur! Twas 'edgepig I smelled back at camp! WHERE'D Y'TAKE 'IM?! WHERE'S ME BLUDFUR?!?" The ash-coloured beast demands, punctuating random words with a thrust towards Loam with his outstretched claw.

_Fear of the towering canine-like beast surged through Mack, although his face remained expressionless. He readied his spear as the coyote reached for one of his daggers, but suddenly the beast turned around, crazed eyes settling on Moonrose. __  
  
Something in the elderly hare snapped at that precise moment, but it wasn't anger, it was the complete opposite; fear, fear for his friend's life. Moonrose was a friend, a close friend at that, and young Loam was an innocent._   
  
"Swords of justice, ARISE!" _The Fort Ruddler battlecry ripped from Mack's throat as he charged the coyote, the end of his spear headed on a course striaght for the attacker's outstretched paw._

_Teltoli heard the call of the maddened beast from his vantage with his partner on a nearby hill top. They had been sent as scouters, but this beast had come from a different direction than that they had been travelling. At the sound of the Fort Ruddler battle cry ripping from Mack's throat, the battle ready hare whipped out his bladed javelin and charged towards his party. __  
  
He ground to a halt, eyes shining slightly as he tried to take in all that was taking place. His keen nose picked up the smell of fear instantly, and surely this beast was frighting to behold. It looked as if Mack would injure the canine in a moment, Moonrose and the little one were in danger. Tel decided to back up Mack, knowing he was putting himself in harms way.   
  
He ran up, coming in from the side towards Mack and the yote, knowing blood might be shed in but a moment._

_Were instinct to play any part in this situation, Rook would have been into the fray, blades drawn and hacking the foe. Unfortunately, it did not. Having been suddenly shaken from his reverie by the canine's fury, Rook hesitated when the others took action for the sake of Moonrose. Altruism was also not a factor, for the poor otter felt as though gallons upon gallons of molten lead were being poured down his gullet, his courage vanishing, evaporating in the heat of a conflict which he could not muster enough of himself to take part in_   
  
"W-w-w-hat a monster! Oh no! Mack!!! Tel!!!"

The mouse winced as the putred breath of the beast blasted her face as it roared. With a snarl, the albino pulled back her blade, preparing to swing. Without warning, a battle cry rent the air, and the ugly beast turns its head to see the oncoming attackers. The coyote turns from the mouse to face the hares, the five blades on the end of each paw ready.*   
  
"WHERE IS 'E?! WHERE IS ME BLUDFUR?!?!?!?!?!" The creature roars fearlessly at the foe-beasts.   
  
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Moonrose growls as she takes a swing at the giant.   
  
*The flat of the blade collides with the monster's face, rendering the tower unconcious. The beast stumbles, then falls back, creating a cloud of dust as the body hits the ground with an audible and satisfactory _thump_. Turning up to see the two hares rushing towards them, weapons drawn, the albino holds up a paw.*   
  
"STOP!! WAIT!!" She yells to them. "Leave the canine be! I want him to explain himself when he awakes... Someone bind his paws. He wont be out for long..."

_Mack drew a shaky breath as he ground to a halt, the action of the situation finally subsiding. He blew dust from his nose and looked back at Tel, giving the fellow hare a silent nod of thanks as if Tel's presence had been reasurring. A weak smile turned the corners of his lips as Mack glanced at Rook, an understanding expression across his face. __  
  
Paws shivering, Mack removed a short length of rope from his pack and shakily began tying the coyote's paws and footpaws together. Casting a glance at the canine's head, Mack hastily tied a knot around the great snapping jaws of the beast, loose enough to talk but tight enough to prevent the dangerously sharp teeth from harming anybeast.   
  
The hare stepped back, weakly leaning on his soear as he glanced up at Moonrose._ "I-I don't s'pose you now what that _thing_ is? Felt like I was racin' to hurt crazed b-b-badger."

_The hare ground his quick procession to a slow jog as he noted the nod from Mack. He came forward slowly, studying this new creature. He had seen canids before, foxes, the ocassional wolf...but this one...what was he? Tel knelt beside his friend Mack. He could sense the subsiding fear in his friend and noticed his paws shaking slightly as he tied the strange creature up. * _  
  
I say Mack me bucko, let me give you paw with this un' eh?   
  
_* The hare assisted getting the knots good and tight about the yote. He stood slowly and dusted off his paws, surveying thier work. This beast was going nowhere. * _  
  
Moonrose, what the bally biscut is this beast? Have you seen his species afore?

The creature groggily lifts its monsterous head, only to find that it has been bound tight. Struggling angrily, the creature glares up at the albino, snapping its jaws together in an almost mechanic clip precision. The rope around its narrow muzzle hinders any real biting, but the sound was enough of a threat. Glaring up at the surrounding beasts, the creature growls in annoyence and rage, writhing on the ground and drawing blood from its wrists as the ropes rub them raw.*   
  
"Lemme go, y'slimey grubs! Lemme go!!" The coyote snarls between its bonds. "Me name's Deathjaw th' Yote! I'm lookin' fer me nephew, Bludfur! WHERE'S 'E?! WHERE'S ME BLUDFUR?!?!?!"

_Tel's reasuring voice and the rare smile from Moonrose soon saw to it that Mack's shaking subsided. His fear of the coyote had surprised even himself. Only once before could he remember the feeling of fear as icy as that that had struck him just moments ago, and that had been when Mack had had a nasty run-in with a full grown adder when he was young traveler. __  
  
By now, Mack was recovered sufficently enough to stop the quivering in his voice and his face once more hardened as the coyote spoke._ "What the bally is a Yote?" _He half muttered to himself. Mack's courage seemed to return as he heard himself speak and his pointed the end of his spear at Deathjaw's neck, although he kept it a safe distance from the snapping jaws._   
  
"Does it look like we've got yer nephew, yote? There be more'n one hedgehog in the world, jest acause we've got one in our midst don't mean we've got yer Bloodfur."

_Resigned and content to keep as far from the others and their captive as he possibly could, Rook crouched in the sandy soil and brought his thick tail about his ankles, curling it. From a distance he could discern the tremors that ran through his friend Mack. The others were a comfort to the elder hare, which was all well and good. Better they than himself. Rook seriously doubted the integrity of his own balance after such an episode. His legs felt heavy and unused, as though every muscle had atrophied in the space of a few seconds time. His stomach had settled, though what had left it now coarsed through his veins; disgust at his cowardly performance. Mack had been frightened, and rightly so, though he still charged the canine. Rook had not_   
  
"Bah!" _Rook muttered, pulling his pack near and digging through it to find a packet of gorp from the traveling rations he'd been advised to keep._   
  
"T'was j-just nerves....beastie tries anything else, I'll use his guts for a jump rope...r-r-ight, I will."   
  
_There was no answer to this solitary decree, so taking a pawful from the tiny pouch, Rook pressed it into his maw. He chewed slowly, crunching while his whiskers bobbed and twiched in time with his moist noise. The nuts were slightly stale, though the sweet tang of a raisin or two more than made up for that._

The monsterous beast reared back its gruesom head, putting itself as far away from the tip of Mack's spear as physically possible with the ropes binding it. With amber eyes flashing in rage, the ash-coloured canine growled deep in its throat, mumbling something incoherant before roaring a reply to the elderly hare.*   
  
"I ain't daft, y' ol' 'alf-wit, though it seems you be! Twasn't jus' any 'edgepig I smelled, twas that 'un!!" The coyote looked pointedly at the hedgehog dibbun.   
  
*The creature wriggled wildly, the ropes binding it rubbing the hide benieth the thick fur coat raw to bleed. This painfilled attempt was carried on for what seemed like an eternaty to the coyote, whilst he cried out softly for his nephew. Finally, with one last heart rending howl, the beast gave up its struggle and sat stock still in its bindings, swollen tears streaming down its grimy face as it let out huge sobs. These were no ordinary soft sobs, oh no, but the never-ending wail of an infant.*   
  
"I jus' wan' me Bludfur back!! Wahhahahaha!!!" The coyote whimpered through its muzzle bindings. "Waaaahhahah!!!"

The albino shook her head in disgust at the site of a full grown creature, a terrifying one at that, blubbering like a dibbun with a 'booboo'. Pitiful. The racket alone was enough to wake the dead.*   
  
"Calm down! Stop your cryin'!" The mouse ordered in annoyence. The reply came as another wailing yowl, earsplittingly heartbroken.   
  
*Moonrose winced at the sound, as it came ugly and cracked. _Only one thing for it,_ she thought. Without hesitation, the albino slapped the beast full across the face, hoping to snap him out of his hysterical state.*   
  
"Pull yoreself together!"

_Cinder heard the whoosh of air as the beast past him by. He turned to see it approaching the albino mouse, which was trying to protect the young hedgehog. Before he could think of a plan, he saw Mack charge the beast, as he let out his warcry. Cinder took off after him, ready to back him up in case.... _"Aaahhh!" *thud*   
  
The beast heard Mack's cry and turned just in time to sidestep the charge. In a flash, the beast hammered Mack in the back of the neck with his fists locked together. But Cinder wasn't far behind the hare, his sling up to speed ready for the fight. The squirrel jumped in from the beast's left side, as he swung his sling across his body, smashing the jaw of the coyote. As Deathjaw howled in pain, Cinder landed, and laid a foot paw in the beasts side sending him flying to the ground ...... *POP*   
  
_The whole dream passed before the squirrel in a split second, as he lay sprawled, face down in the dirt. It seemed a large root protruding form the ground had it's own idea for reality should be other than Cinder's own. The squirrel pushed himself up onto his knees in time to see the albino mouse smack the coyote on the back of his head, knocking it unconscious. Slowly, Cinder got up and brushed himself off before he made his way over to where the hare's were binding the beast up. __  
  
A little embarrassed about the fall, he watched the interactions with Deathjaw in silence, hoping and guessing no one saw his accident. 'Questioning him just keeps us running in circles.' he thought to himself. 'We might as well ask Loam if ...' Cinder froze as the idea hit him. Quietly, he made his way to the young hedgehog's side, where he had been watching the whole scene. Cinder mustered a calming smile, as he crouched down to ask him a question. He tapped the hedgehog on his shoulder._   
  
"Hey buddy. Do you know this beast, or do 'ya got any idea who or what his Bloodfur is?"

"Loam," _Mack murmered quietly,_ "do you know what he's talkin' about?"   
  
_The hare knelt down and dug through his haversack for a few seconds, finally emerging with flagon of cool cider and a tiny wooden bowl used for mashing berries and such. Trying hard to keep his paws steady, Mack poured a bit of the cider into the bowl and gingerly placed the bowl a paw's length from the yote's head. Using the butt of his spear, the hare pushed the bowl towards Deathjaw._   
  
"Calm down like she said, yote. We don't mean you any harm as long as you don't mean us any. You won't get anything by rippin' us t'pieces, or blubberin', so drink up and stay quiet."

_Although Lupin had readied her sling at the first sight of the canine, she stood motionless as it nearly clawed Mack. Moonrose, thinking quickly, struck it in the face with her blade, saving Mack from serious injury. Fear had caused Lupin to seize up, and she saw the same reaction in several others. Mack himself was quaking as the coyote was bound, and Lupin gave a shiver as the creature woke and began howl like a babe. Though the situation now seemed under control, the otter kept her sling loaded, not wanting to be surprised again._

The stinging slap from the mouse caught the canine by surprise, and it immediately snapped him out of whatever pitiful daze he was under. But the slap came off as more of a personal insult rather than an injury. A mouse?! A scrawny mouse wench had the nerve to cuff him like a cub!! Growling, the beast turned to face the albino, fire raging in its amber eyes*   
  
"Don' raise yer paw t' me, mouse! 'Er I'll bite it off!" it snarled, snapping its large fangs together menecingly, tears completely forgotten as it attempted to somewhat avenge its injured pride.   
  
*Upon seeing the cider poured forth, the creature looked up, suspicion building behind the yellow primal eyes. Poison? Maybe the old hare was up to something. The canid noted the grey creature's paws trembling. Hah! Thought he wouldn't see, eh? The poison they put in there would probably kill the grass had the hare spilled a drop. Yeah, that's it! Well, Deathjaw the Yote wouldn't be killed so easily! Yet, still.... the creature's throat was as dry as a bone with all of the howling it was doing, and the mere sight of the warm amber liquid set his mouth to salivate. With suprising agileness and control, the burly and combersom-looking creature bent its ash-coloured neck in a graceful arc, sticking its snout a hairsbreath from the liquid surface. The coyote inhales deeply, sending mini-ripples across the surface as the keen nose analyzed the contents of the bowl. Only the delicious smell of apple cider. Though his senses were going wild at the sweet smell, the monsterous beast cautiously ventured a pink tongue out for a taste. More wonderful than the smell!! _Besides_, he thought, _I haven't died yet...Why stop now?_ With that, the beast dug in, lapping greedily at the golden liquid until all that was left was an empty bowl. Even then, the mighty beast licked at the wood, searching for any hidden drops. His thirst quenched, the canid sat back on its haunches and licked its chops satisfactorily.*   
  
"Thankee," The coyote nods to Mackbry, for once treating one of the creatures with a glimmer of respect.

_Mack nodded back to Deathjaw, feeling as if he had reached a silent understanding with the coyote, his quivering finally subsiding entirely. After all, rage was an easy thing to acquire if a beast could not find a loved one. __  
  
Again the hare bent down to Loam and questioned the young one._ "Loam, tisn't nice t'run off with other beasts nephews, an' I'm not sayin' y'did, but I need t'know if you know what the yote is talkin' about. C'mon m'lad, do y'know of this Bloodfur?"

Moonrose watched as the little hedgehog dibbun unclutched a muddied paw from her cloak and brought it to his chin in a very thoughtful gesture before replying to the elderly hare. His foul attitude had seemed to have died down some, and cooperated enough to give the travelers an understandable answer.*   
  
"Me know Bloodyfer. We played fer 'while, but then he 'ad to go bye bye. Then he left," The dibbun gave an exaggerated shrug. "Dunno wheres he went."   
  
*Moonrose heaved a gusty sigh and gently masaged her forehead with her fingertips, trying to make sence of how the assumed scenario went. A hedgehog dibbun, presumably alone, went trampsing about in this... monster's camp. The bloodthirsty monster's nephew went to play with this newly arrived dibbun, then got lost on his way back. Or abducted. It could happen... The albino shook her head. This trip was getting more complicated with every step. What next, a wildcat with wings on its head looking for a lost aunt? Turning back to Mack, she gave him a tired and almost annoyed look before speaking.*   
  
"Now what?"

_Cinder had hoped for more information from Loam, but the trail seemed to run dry again. As he sat on his haunches, staring intently at the ground in front of him, he talked the problem out to himself, although it was loud enough for those near by to hear clearly._   
  
"If Bloodfur IS lost in the woods, it'd take a while to find him, since we don't know the area that well. But, what do we know is around here? Well, Loam's tribe is just a little ways further..."   
  
_Cinder's eyes widened at the thought of the danger the coyote cub could be in. He kept his thoughts to himself as he stood up. 'It's a long shot but it could have happened.' Not exactly sure of who to tell his idea to, he looked back and forth at Moonrose and Mack, address both at the same time._   
  
"What if Bloodfur walked straight into Loam's tribe? With Loam missing, there's no telling what sort of conclusions they might jump to, if they found out there are coyotes living in the woods. Bloodfur might be in danger there. Maybe we should send some beasts ahead, to check if the tribe has seen him."

_Mack stared intently at Loam, observing the hedeghog's body language as he told his story; yes, he was telling the whole truth. The hare remained silent at Moonrose's question, his thoughts enveloping him. Finally at Cinder's suggestion, Mack spoke up._   
  
"Aye, but we all need t'head fer the hedgehog's village, an' take the yote along with us. Must remember we be on a mission an' we can't steer too far from it. If the hedgehogs haven't seen this Bloodfur, than I don't know what t'do with Deathjaw, but that can be figured out later."   
  
_His footpaws scuffed the dirt, silently considering technicalities that could prevent this from happening. How would they get Deathjaw to move? Would he understand they were helping and do as was told?_   
  
"Riala, be that a'right with you?" _The hare asked, removing his cap from his head and running a paw through his headfur absentmindedly._

This entire time, Riala had been... um... scouting ahead or something. Yah. She returns and listens in carefully on all the explanations and inquirations, gold-brown eyes narrowed slightly at the 'yote's and hedgehog's words. At Mack's question, she nods slowly, rust-gold tail twitching as squirrel tails are wont to do. "That sounds good to me... We may have to travel double-time though, and eat as we go, if we want to get there quickly." She looks about at the faces of the patrol, most of which are looking fairly rested due to the stop near the stream, and nods again, this time to herself.   
  
The squirrel walks over to Deathjaw and watches his finally calming visage closely. "Well, 'yote, you have a choice. The hedgebabe was only playing with your nephew, and the both of them are separated from family now. I think we might be able to find your nephew, first by visiting this hedgebabe's tribe - they may have found him, and if we hurry we might be able to get there in time to prevent any..." Riala hesitates, groping for words that wouldn't alarm the coyote too much, "...drastic misunderstandings. But we won't be able to drag you along; you'll have to cooperate with us if you want to find your nephew more quickly."

_The small cloth pouch was void of all save a few remnants, several very close relatives of the hazelnut crumbs that dotted the black, shiny landscape that was Rook's nose. He brushed at them absetmindedly, scattering flecks off into the prickly grass that rubbed against and combed the fur of his ankles. Then, Pulling himself up, Rook returned his haversack to his shoulder and directed an uncouth snort in the direction of the others, just to make them aware of his growing restlessness. Indesicion was a bane, a tab, a tax on his patience, and it seemed rampant enough in the glade, near the stream where they had encountered this yote._

The blood-lust seemed to have seeped from the ash-coloured canine, and he stared at the squirrel with utmost seriousness. _Must be their Alpha_, he thought, watching the other beasts turn to her with respect in hopes for a knowledgable answer. Tipping his muzzle to the rust-tailed squirrel warrior as he would to his own Alpha, he replied in a gruff voice full of concern.*   
  
"I'll foller ye to the 'edgepig's camp, I jus' wanna bring me nephew back 'ome safe an' sound," the beast spoke in earnest, trying his best not to move lest the rough ropes saw painfully at his raw hide. "Er, ouch, ack, oww... on my word as a 'yote I'll not 'urt an 'air on yore 'eads, if only y'd untie these 'ere ropes... thems makin' me rather uncomf'terble."

_Something about the way the coyote spoke struck a string in Mack's heart, he sounded truely concerned about his lost nephew. Then again, not knowing much of this new speicies, Mack could not classify Deathjaw as vermin. __  
  
Casting a tentitve glance at Riala and Moontouch, Mack bent down and slowly undid the ropes binding the yote's paws and muzzle. Slightly hesitant, Mack stepped back to allow the coyote room._   
  
"Er...want anythin' t'eat whilst we walk...er, Deathjaw?"

Rubbing his wrists ruefully as the blood painfully began to circulate properly through the bruised areas, the ash-coloured creature gave a small wince before replying.*   
  
"Thankee, sir, no. I cun'na keep n'thing down at a time like this. I'd rather we move," the canid stated, looking unsettled.   
  
*Glancing at the hedgehog babe, the yote swallowed a growl of disgust. Whatever this creature had done had led to the dissapearence of his beloved Bloodfur, and for that his dislike for the dibbun would stay standing until proven wrong. A side-glance brought his amber glare to the albino mouse who had struck him earlier. The same distrust and distain filled him at the sight of the tiny creature who had the nerve to treat him like a lowly rat-thief. The nerve! The absolute nerve! Turning back to the squirrel before he lost his head, the monster-like creature nodded civily to the leader.*   
  
"An' thankee, marm, fer 'elpin' me in me quest."

The mouse met the strange-beast's icy glare and matched it. Deep within the caverns of her mind something reared its head in fear of the creature. Echos of the carnage-filled tales told about the 'yotes' around traveler's campfires filled her ears, and she cringed at the thought of her companions meeting the same fate as those poor victims in the horrendous stories. What were they doing trusting this... this monster... letting the beast walk around without hinderences or anything to save them if the beast went homicidle on them once again. Do they really believe his 'honest' word? The albino but a protective paw on Loam's shoulder. No, she'd be on guard. She'd be ready. Mistrustful rose-coloured eyes followed the smoothe movements of the canid like a hawk, ever icy and dangerous. _You'd better watch your step, monster_, she thought to herself. _I've got my eyes on you_.

Riala watches the 'yote with narrowed eyes as he rises to his footpaws and glares at Moonrose and Loam with intense dislike, and seeing the mouse watch him with distrust. _More conflict... just great..._ She makes a mental note to keep a close eye on both the coyote and the albino mouse, and especially on the 'yote. She doesn't know what his kind is like, nor if he is trustworthy, but they don't have much of a choice.   
  
The squirrel nods curtly at Deathjaw's thanks and turns to the rest of the patrol, glancing up at the dimming sky. "If we move at a steady jog, we can reach the hedgehog tribe in an hour, not long after sunset," she announces. "Team 2 - Teltoli and Shaara, Landin and SilverRose - you've got scouting duty. In fact, you'd better just go straight on ahead to the hedgehog tribe to say we're coming and to check if the 'yote's nephew is there. You'll have to eat on the trail. Let's go!" With that, the squirrel sets off at a steady lope down the trail...

_The yote's appearence was fearsome indeed and his manners could be improved, but unlike most vermin this strange creature actually seemed to care about another beast. Mack shook his head with a heavy sigh and began trudging after Riala, but something stopped him. __  
  
The hare slowly made his way through the crowd of assembled beasts over to Rook. Wiping away beads of sweat that had gathered on his brow on first sight of Deathjaw, Mack simply wrapped a friendly paw around Rook's shoulder._   
  
"C'mon Rook m'boyo, on w'go."

The canid nonchalontly turned his magnificent and fearsom head for a quick look around, absorbing his surroundings for the first time. Countless creatures, all strong and equally armed were scattered throughout the clearing. The yote breathed a silent prayer of gratitude as he realized that if his threatening interrigation went as planned, he would have most definately been slain on the spot. Reaching into his vest pocket, he removed his favorite long cherrywood pipe. Red ingravings flared as the canine lit the pipe, bringing it to his muzzle for a deep inhale. Blue smoke wafted up towards the grey sky, and the monsterous creature let the warm ashes float and caress his large white paw, enjoying the feeling of the lightly scented breeze over his rough paw-pads. Holding the pipe in his mouth, the beast began to move at a brisk march, the determined step of one with a mission. He moved almost twitchly, anxious at the thought of finding his beloved Bloodfur in any danger. _If those half-witted spike-dogs so much as touched an 'air on 'is 'ead..._ the canine thought angrily. _I'll yank each spike from their 'ides, one by one! _Growling half heartedly, the ash-coloured shook his head in dispare. If anything happened to his nephew, if anything did, he'd be too broken hearted to take revenge.

_The cold ache in Rook's stomach subsided, replaced by flooding relief at Mackbry's touch. A phantom smile appears on the otter's face, only to be blown away with the same wind that carries the hazy, cobalt colored smoke from Deathjaw's cherrywood pipe. Livening his steps to match Mackbry's, Rook gave the drawstring of his haversack an unintentional squeeze, as though it foreshadowed a reaction; a sneeze or a cough that might have been building. He was in fact, still wary of the 'yote, and didn't wish to be caught with his tail exposed again, such was the figure of speech._


	11. Wayside Patrol - Arrival at Loam's Tribe

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a huge IC mission roleplayed out by many different players.  I haven't edited anything (spelling, grammar, tense, post order, etc) yet, and I might not get around to it for a while simply because this is such a long thread.  I hoe you can still follow it._

_ The only character I wrote the part of was Riala, although NPCs such as Loam and the hedgehog tribe and the leveret were written mostly by me, occasionally by other people.  Many of the other roleplayers simply stopped roleplaying, and so towards the end the only people still roleplaying were myself, Mackbry, and Moonrose._

**Wayside Patrol – Arrival at Loam's Tribe**

_The leaves of both trees shuffled together as one of the branches began to bow down. Cinder's footing was beginning to give way before he leapt forward. He easily landed in the next tree and continued his quick pace across the treetops. __  
  
Cinder had gotten a ways ahead of the rest of the patrol, but nothing was going to stop him after he freed himself from the confining ground. It had been a while since his last run through the forest, and he was enjoying every second.   
  
He saw a clearing up ahead, and came to a halt in a tree along its edge.   
A vast golden plain stretched before him to the north. A short ways off the northeast a line of hills sat before the great northern mountain range. The hills cast their long shadows over the mountain range, as the last few crimson rays of sunlight skimmed over their tops.   
  
In the distance, Cinder saw two small hedgehogs running for the base of a hill. When they got there, they were shooed in a small door by a lager hedgehog waving a large ladle, no doubt the mother of the dibbuns.   
  
The murmurs of conversations mixed with the crunching of leaves and sticks, announced the arrival of the rest of the patrol. Cinder made his way out of the tree and bumped into his partners, Mack and Rook, who were towards the front of the pack. He quickly apologized before announcing to everyone about his sighting._   
  
"S'cuse me Mack! I spotted Loam's tribe living at the base of one of the hills off to the northeast. Shouldn't take us long to get there."

*Deathjaw's ears perked up at this. To him, their short trek had seemed like miles long, and all the while time ticked slowly as he worried about the well-being of his nephew. _Almost there, buck-o,_ he told himself. _An' Bludfur'll be safe. He will._ Wiping all other thoughts from his mind, the ash-coloured creature pushed his way to the front of the traveling group, like a moving wall, knocking everyone and everything out of the way in his mad accent.*   
  
"Well, what 'er we waitin' fer? Le's go!" the monsterous canid bellowed as he broke into a sprint.   
  
*_He's safe, he'll be okay, he'll be there..._ the voices echoed their eternal phrase in his rampant mind. Already the beast was way out in front of the group, but all other thoughts were drowned out by the incessent whispers that made his head throb. The humongous canine moved at an alarming speed, loping along the soft grounds. This was his terrain, and he was going to use it. He picked up speed, his sinewy muscles contracting with each pull and rippling under his matted hide. He wanted to be the first there, he wanted the hedgepigs to see the enraged terror that was he, those demonic spikedogs that took his Bloodfur away.*

*She had been watching him ever since they started their hike. The albino was keenly aware that the arrogent hedgehog dibbun stayed close to her side, mumbling incoherant things, but she paid him no heed. Just as long as he stayed away from that... 'yote'. She stayed a few yards behind him, watching him as he strode off, his head and shoulders towering over the other beasts. She caught the faint scent of his pipe as the wind carried the smoke deeper into the group. Loam seemed to smell it too.*   
  
"Geff, geff, icky!" The hedgehog coughed, wiping his nose with a filthy paw.   
  
*Moonrose sighed and turned her attention back to the front, which had come to a halt to hear Cinder's report. They were close. Without warning, the monster among them gave a howl and set off across the grasses, his strong legs pulling him easily to the village. Fear rose in her throat and came out as a strangled yell. What was the canid thinking? That he would seek out his nephew and rampage the village despite being terribly out numbered? Without giving herself time to think, the mouse set off after the coyote, pumping her small legs and urging herself to go faster. Deathjaw had gotten a large headstart, and his long legs were pulling him ever farther away. She had no idea what she would do is she didn't catch up with him, but worse, was that she had no idea what she would do if she did.*

"Ah, very good Cinder lad." _Mack said with an appreciative nod towards the squirrel, still continuing at an agile pace. But as Cinder's news reached the ears of the somewhat crazed yote, an icy hand gripped Mack as the enraged beast set off on his own._   
  
"Will that blasted beast never learn? They'll be like as not t'shoot him on first sight! Let's go Rook!" _The hare stretched his legs as he began to lope after Moonrose. Suddenly, however, he stopped as if thinking better of it. He flashed around, speaking outloud as he did so._ "Cinder, quick like now, race ahead an' warn the hedgehogs. Any squirrel can beat a beast on foot, but you'll have t'hurry if'n you plan on tellin' 'em the whole story. Tell 'em not t'kill Deathjaw, but harm 'im if he poses a threat, jest knock him out or something. Quick step lad, he's already got a head start!"

_Not long after the words came out of his mouth, Cinder saw Deathjaw take off towards the hills, followed soon after by the albino mouse. Cinder stood there dumbfounded as to what to do, not fully realized the danger they all faced. He saw Mack start to run after the pair, but pull up soon after. Before Mack was halfway done shouting, Cinder shot off on all fours as fast as he could, in order to catch up._   
  
"I'm on it!" He yelled as he flew by the hare.   
  
[i]'What do I say? How do I tell them...' he thought as he galloped across the open plain. It wasn't long before the squirrel caught up to the yote. With nothing more than a quick glance behind him, Cinder raced past him and continued on towards the hills. 'Got'a hurry, I don't have much time.... WAIT! I bet I can throw him off course, he doesn't know which hill they live in!'   
  
With a short hop, the squirrel had changed his direction, and poured on a little extra speed, heading for a hill further south of where he saw the hedgehog family. 'Maybe that will buy me an extra second.' He thought as he sprinted onwards.

*Moonrose panted angrily, frustrated that she just could not catch up to the lanky yote. Just up ahead, Cinder zigzagged back and forth, darting out of the way. Deathjaw followed immediately, changing course and heading further south.   
  
_What is he doing?!_She asked herself as she followed, taking a shorter route to help her catch up. With anger spurring her on, the mouse kicked up her heels, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to gain some ground. Growling to herself, she kept her rose-coloured eyes focused in on the ash-coloured monster just ahead, trying to imagin herself being pulled along her gaze. Lavender skirt billowing out behind her, the albino pressed on, pulling ever closer to the crazed canid.   
  
Even from behind she could tell that he was starting to burn out; his pink tongue hung out between his yellow fangs, and his footpaws slapped the ground. It seemed, though, that in his crazed state, he did not notice his body was failing to catch up to the fleet squirrel. Moonrose would have grinned were she not gasping for air herself._ Gotcha now!_*

**_The yote caught everybeast off guard by bolting from the group, and Rook was no exception. Scarely before he could comprehend just how grave the situation had once again become, Cinder and Moonrose were also gone from his side, after the loping canine. Mackbry moved to follow, but stopped and began to shout. What he said fell deaf as Rook raced by, though otters are not built to skirt the land and Rook soon fell behind the other two, much to his continued frustration. Vowing to lambaste the yote once he managed to catch him, Rook curled his tail and pumped his lissom legs, gaining a little bit of ground on the three_**   
  
"Rassafrassingyote! *pantpant* He should be locked in a cage while somebeast tosses his Bludfur in a cold river!"

_Lupin gave a small snort of annoyance as the coyote took off running, warning nobeast. The fool creature would not learn! The female otter quickened her step as Moonrose, Cinder, and Rook gave chase, but she didn't run like the others, knowing that she won't be able to catch up. If water were near, it would be a different story, but neither stream nor river was readily available. Lupin reloaded her sling with a larger stone as she sped up a bit to keep the running creatures in view. If anybeat was put in serious danger, she wanted to be ready to throw the stone as a chance at comprmising the coyote, lest any of her friends or innocent creatures be injured._

"Rook, northeast m'boyo, northeast!" _Mack shouted towards the sprinting otter._ "Cinder said northeast an' he's headed more south'en that! I'll head striaght fer the tribe, keep goin'!"   
  
_The hare took off in a different direction than that of his companion, his long legs flexing with the strain of speed. After a few minutes his breath finally started to come out in ragged, clipped intervals as age took its toll of Mack's endurance. He slowed his pace to a fast jog and muttered to himself.._   
  
"Keep goin' Mackbry Taffellappen, you've got t'warn them hedgehogs!" _With a grunt he pumped his legs once, shooting off towards the hill to the northeast._

*Deathjaw's sharp ears caught the Mack's shout easily, as the ears of the coyote are built to hear the smallist of noises. The elderly hare's words reached the yote's brain ever so slowly, not really sinking in until three more beasts had taken up the chase. NORTHEAST?! The creature gave a rage-filled yowl and changed directions, snarling with each labored breath. He'd deal with those meddling travelers when he was through with the hedgehog tribe. Seeing red, the canid pushed his flagging limbs onward, spurred by anger and concern for Bloodfur. Then he spotted Mackbry, jogging slowly up the hill. _Easy prey..._ he thinks, and puts on an extra burst of speed.*

"No-!" Moonrose breathed in frustration.   
  
*The monster had keener hearing than anyone had suspected. Pushing herself onward, she followed the heavy canid, cursing her skirts for slowing her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and each breath was beginning to create a dull ache. Angrilly she forced herself forward, pushing her leaden legs to the limit. She spotted Mack heading out in front of the massive canine, dashing with the god-given speed of only a hare. But the yote was gaining crazily.   
It struck her brain like chain lightning. With a roar the small mouse pressed herself forward, straining every muscle and every last bit of strength to catch up to the monsterous beast. She could feel her legs beginning to give, and the muscles in her middle knotted in a large cramp. _I can do this!_ She scolded herself for having any doubt. She had gotten this far, haden't she? She was close enough to reach out and touch the black-tipped tail in front of her. With one last burst of strength, she threw herself at the canid, knocking him off balance and bringing him to the ground.*

Riala blinks, taken off guard as everything happens at once - the coyote charging towards the hedgehog camp... Cinder's swift flight to warn the tribe... and then instinct kicks in and she races with all the incredible speed of her species up a tree, tearing across the treetops, dropping to all fours in her mad rush to catch up and overtake the 'yote. Gold-brown eyes narrow dangerously as the flagging coyote speeds up with Mack right in front of him...   
  
_Not going to lose another friend...!_   
  
The thought rages across her mind, fueling her heaving lungs and her burning muscles as she _leaps_ for the 'yote, roce out and swinging by its cord from her paw and aiming towards his head, dagger in her free paw to strike if her club-like stick doesn't do the job of halting the maddened canine.

  
The commotion has not gone unnoticed by the hedgehog camp, for sound can travel where sight can't detect. Nearby weapons are taken up immediately, wariness etched on each quill-framed face as they wait for intruders. The scent of coyote is strong in the camp, however, and strongest within one tent that continues to attract cautious glances from the warrior tribebeasts.

*The canid hit the ground hard, getting the breath knocked from his lungs in the process. He coughed out a strangled growl of anguish as he swiped at the albino, shoving her off of him. Their alpha soon entered the fray, and he had to roll over to avoid the weapon she was wielding. Snapping his mighty jaws together angrily, he scuffled with the exhausted mouse for a moment as she fought to keep him down before hastilly picking himself up and dashing off up the hill, his breathing ragged and laboured. He could feel his wiery muscles beginning to fail, and he angrilly forced himself on, following the grey hare in hot pursuit. He'd get those travelers for this! Turning his head over his shoulder for a look back, he found that the mouse had gotten to her feet and was following him again. The squirrel was there too, nipping at his heels. _Do they never quit?!_  He threw himself forward, charging the hill angrilly and quickly gaining on the older hare. Only a matter of time now. With a crazed howl, he went down on all fours, digging in his long claws and propelling himself forward in a most primal manner.*   
  
"LUAAAAAAAAAAANAAAAAAAA!!"

_Mack suddenly skidded to a halt as a loud 'thump!' sounded a ways down the hill behind him and a cloud of dust rose. Deathjaw had advanced upon the jogging hare in utter silence, speeding through the forest at a pace faster than Mack had even known possible. __  
  
The hare flashed around and choked back a cry of surprise as his eyes landed on the beast he feared as much as any adder. But surprise was soon replaced by horror as he saw what had brought the yote down; his friend and comrad Moonrose. Mack shakily lifted his spear, his air-deprived mind slowing his actions. Something seemed to break in him and tears suddenly made his eyes sparkle, although none rolled down his cheek. An icy paw tugged at his heart and he wave of helplessness swept over him. Deathjaw's blood-curdling cry of anger did little to enforce Mack's confidence.   
  
The hare's arms felt weak and watery as he stared in total silence as the bloodwrath-led beast charged up the hill; how many hares had challenged a coyote who suffered from the bloodwrath? Mack was willing to bet very few.   
  
Suddenly a strange, yet somehow faintly familiar voice rang through his ears, "Every warrior fears something my son, but never do they remain still when danger is present; it is the warrior's duty and honor." All at once energy surged through Mack's body as he hefted his spear high above his head.   
  
What he saw before him was not the blood-shaking coyote, but an enemy, one who presented a threat to more than just Mack's life. Muttering something to the extent of "Aid me, Father." Mack charged down the hill towards the canine. His arms and legs felt like jelly and were coated in the sweat of fear, but he moved with the grace of a young fearless warrior._   
  
"Swords of justice, ARISE!" _Mack hurled his spear down the hill with all the force he could muster at Deathjaw, aimed at the yote's left shoulder as he was on all fours; that beast had to be brought down, Mack thought, dead or alive._

*The canid skidded to an abrupt halt, staring in awe at the spear shaft that seemed to grow out of his shoulder. There was no pain in his crazed state, but fear flooded through him, causing him to tremble violently. He was going to die, to die, to die! The coyote sunk to his knees, still gaping at his bleeding wound. He was going to die and never see his Bloodfur again. He had let Dakket down, he had let Bloodfur down... What had he done? Crimson blood filled his vision, and with one last, gurgled howl, the coyote collapsed in a bloody heap, unconcious and barely breathing.*

_The sounds of confrontation reached Cinder's ears as he reached the base of the hill. He chanced a look, but found no one following behind him. He skidded to a halt, his muscles burning with pain and breathing heavily. 'It didn't work, I got to get to the tribe.' __  
  
Without looking back, Cinder started off again heading straight for the hedgehog encampment.   
  
He was just arriving as a grumbling howl pierced the evening air. Cinder cam to another screeching halt.   
  
"LUAAAAAAAAAAANAAAAAAAA!!"   
  
The entire camp, for the slightest moment, was silent, as they stood motionless looking for the cause of the disturbance. The sudden cry from a young dibbun, for it's mother, broke the errie spell, and sent the young and old scurrying to their homes. The warriors of the tribe quickly rounded up their weapons and gathered around the campfire, all of them looking up to the male hedgehog, standing upon a large rock, for direction. "Baggor, ged'up 'da hill and scout around for **that** beast. D'a rest of ya, set up a line to....."   
  
Cinder had ran up to the group, trying to push his way in towards the chieftain, yelling to get his attention._ "Sir!, Sir!" _The warriors all turned to see who interrupted. Completely out of breath, he tried to explain the situation. _  
  
"S'cuse me, Sir! *huffs in and out* I'm Cinder Elmcreek, 'n I'm with *breaths in and out again* a scouting party from Fort Ruddler. *gulp* *another deep breath in* There's a crazed coyote looking for his nephew, running straight for this camp. We need any of your strongest warriors, to help stop the yote from getting here, but PLEASE only help capture the beast. He's only looking for his lost nephew, we only need to stop him long en....."   
  
"The pup! .... He's coming here after that beast over..... "   
  
_The chatting warriors, some of who gave nervous glances towards a tent on the other side of the camp, interrupted Cinder. The chiefthain shouted out to quiet the group. Cinder took note of where the glances fell before urging the warriors to action._   
  
"Please hurry! I have a feeling my friends maybe in trouble."   
  
_Soon after, Cinder and a half score of the tribes warriors, with weapons ready, were running up the hill to aid the rest of the patrol in stopping Deathjaw._

_Mack fell to his knees, his cap tumbling from his head. His breath came in ragged gasps as he watched the yote fall to the ground as well. By that time the two were within a short stone's throw of each other. The hare, his limbs quivering, quickly crawled towards the massive beast. __  
  
The tears that had threatened to pour forth did so at that moment; despite his porfession and need to protect others, Mack had rarely killed another beast and took no pleasure whatsoever in doing so.   
  
The coyote's breathing had slowed, making obvious the fact that the beast was unconcious. Stopping the flow of tears and wiping them away with the sleeve of his tunic, Mack hunched over the yote. Slowly he wrapped his paws around his own spear and with a sigh tugged it quickly free of the injured beast's shoulder. Pulling the flagon of water from his haversack and uncorking it, Mack slowly poured the water over the wound while watching Deathjaw closely for signs of wakefulness. After the wound had been cleansed of all blood, the hare lightly pressed the edge of his cloak over it; a dark stain began spreading across the blue fabric._   
  
"Riala! Moonrose! Rook!" _Mack called out, his voice faltering as if laiden with grief and pain._

Riala had almost caught up to the 'yote when Mack made his move, and she had to dart aside to avoid ramming into Deathjaw as he fell. She watches the fallen coyote with narrowed gold-brown eyes, breathing deeply from the exertions of the chase. _Insane..._ The thought breezes through her mind silently, darkly, a shadow of foreboding. _...if not truly an enemy._   
  
Scarred footsteps make little sound on the sparse grass as Riala pads over to the canid's head, staring down at the prone body coldly. _Too dangerous to live,_ she thinks, her mental voice unemotionless and ringing with absolute finality. Mackbry's grief-choked voice breaks on her consciousness like a wave on the rocks in the aftermath of a storm, and russet-tufted ears flick his way, followed by her gaze, a look that holds all the emotion of the gates of Dark Forest.   
  
"Mackbry." Riala's rough voice is flat and level, carrying the hardness that he may find familiar: it is the complete emotionlessness that brings to mind the fact that this is no merciful warrior of the normal codes of honor, but one who has lived by the rules of ruthlessness and strength, one who has had it beaten into her time and again that the honorable only ever find death at the blades of those without honor... "Don't waste your efforts on him."   
  
Her words are accented by the rasp of steel leaving a sheath, and the dying sunlight gleams red off of the dagger in the squirrel's paw.

_The elderly hare wrapped his cloak around Deathjaw and stood up, wiping his blood-stained paws on his tunic. Without a word he ambled over to where his cap had dropped to the ground and reached down to retrieve it. Mack stood up, turning the cap over in his paws as if memories of long ago seasons were passing through his mind._   
  
"Riala, please..." _He began, finally settling the cap atop his silver-furred head and staring down at his own red paws._ "He's young ones t'take care of an'...he's jest crazed for fear of them bein' harmed." _Mack wiped away a few beads of sweat that had gathered under his eyes and polished his glasses briefly._ "I mean...tis the last thing this world needs by killin' another parent of young ones. I'll..." _The hare hesitated, glancing down at the fearsome creature; at its long, dangerous teeth and sharp, mericiless claws. This was the beast Mack would have preferred to avoid for the rest of his life, the beast that had twice now struck an icy fear in the hare's gut. Yet somehow, there had been something strange Mack had felt by the coyote's words of thanks when offered water._   
  
"I'll...I'll watch him. Jest until he goes his own way...I'll watch him." 

Riala watches Mack closely as he spoke, something akin to sympathy flashing across her face and then disappearing as if it had never touched her scarred features. When he finishes, she is silent for a long moment, and then shakes her head. "He's insane, Mackbry," she says. "Even if he's not an enemy, not vermin, he's insane - he's too dangerous to let live. Dangerous to himself and to others... He tried to kill you, Mack, and you're the one he seemed to trust most."   
  
The slight softening in the squirrel's gaze disappears, replaced by ice as she stares down at the 'yote. "You say he'll go his own way... but you can't know that he will. Just as likely that he'll try to kill you and those in the hedgehog tribe. He's better off dead." She tests the keen edge of her dagger on one calloused paw, her face expressionless. Killing is not a job she enjoys, despite her seeming bloodthirstyness at times: it's something she feels she has to do. In many cases, she feels it's the best solution... such as this one.

*Moonrose saw the canid fall, heard the dull thump as he collapsed, saw the spear petrude in his shoulder, watched him as his breathing slowed. She skidded to a halt, trying hard to get her heartbeat under controle. She watched the beasts converse up ahead. The monsterous creature was not dead, but what would the future bring?*   
  
"Riala's right, Mack..." The mouse says softly, puting a comforting paw on the hare's back.   
  
*She walked the rest of the way to the coyote's side, staring at the ash-coloured beast in distain. His breathing labored, his wound crusting with the dust, he looked as pitiful and as helpless as a wounded lion. His eyes half closed, he was already at the Gates of the Dark Forest. For a moment, she felt something akin to sympathy to the magnificent beast before her. Though terrifying, his strength and power had held her in awe. Then her eyes befell upon the long yellow fangs, the sharp black claws, the twitching sinewy muscles, and she knew what had to be done. She unshiethed her sword from her back, heavy in her paws, and looked to Riala with an unreadable expression.*

*Through a shadowy haze, the monsterous canid watched the conversing travelers with glazed eyes. His shoulder shot the white fire of pain surging through his torso, but somehow his senses weren't picking it up. His keen hearing must be failing him as well, for the words of the beasts so close seemed muffled, dull. He tried moving, but his muscles only twitched in response. The coyote breathed a gusty sigh, they were discussing his fate. How stupid of him to disobey their alpha, just when they had givin him a second chance! The mouse who had hit him earlier came forth, wielding a double-bladed sword. It glinted silver and gold in the light, almost glowing. The mouse held it poised above his neck, her expression grim. _This is it_, he thinks. _I'm sorry, Bloodfur...._ The creature closes his eyes in defeat, awaiting his death.*

_A long, drawn-out sigh was Mack's reply as he stooped to pick up his cloak. For a moment he gazed at Deathjaw, then patted the yote lightly on the shoulder before rising once more and gave a slight, reasurring smile that just barely turned the corners of his lips._   
  
"Riala, we can't kill him. We're honorable beasts, whether he be or not doesn't matter. The least we can do is take him along with us and wait for him to die, be better then killlin' him in cold blood. If he's truely goin' t'die, then let him, but if he's not then let him live. He's a guardian of a youn 'un, an'-" _Mack hesitated, hating to bring up a touchy subject that related to Riala's out past._ "An'..." _He faltered once more before plucking up whatever courage had not been drained from him when Deathjaw had charged him._ "An' think of the type of life Bloodfur twould live without somebeast t'care fer him."   
  
_Mack knelt next to Deathjaw and laid a soft paw over the yote's back._ "He willna hurt anybeast what with a wound like that. I'll take responsibilty fer him; he gets in trouble, I'll get in trouble. I'll even split me rations with him, jest don't kill him, please....not in cold blood leastwise."

*The mouse sighed, frustraited, lowering her blade and sticking it point down in the soil next to the monster's head. What Mackbry saw in this creature was beyond her. It could be a father, brother, or a grandfather, but it didn't change the fact that this canid had attacked them twice, held a complete disregard for Riala's wishes, and appeared stark raving mad. She stared into the coyote's half closed amber eyes with mistrust, debating wheather the old hare was actually seeing something good within the monsterous creature, or if father time was turning him soft. Still... _The beast still has a young one to look after_, a small part of her mind whispered. She shook her head at that. What was she thinking? This beast was dangerous, unstable, and it was his love of his Bloodfur that made him that way.*   
  
"I..." She began, but trailed off, not knowing where to go from there.   
  
*The albino took a long, hard look at the yote, disregarding him for a moment. He was virtually helpless, and she had to admitt, the loss of a dear one can make a beast crazy. Before the mouse knew it she was reaching over and removing the monster's belt of daggers. She unsheithed one, tossed it and caught it deftly.*   
  
"I'll let him live, as long as he stays away from these," Moonrose twitched the blade ever so slightly, watching the sunlight glint off the metal before sticking it back in the belt.

*To the coyote's complete surprise, instead of the stinging blow of the albino's blade, all he could feel was a gentle paw on his shoulder. His muscles winced slightly in responce, twitching involuntary. His eyes rolled in his head, searching the bright world, finding the same old hare who's spear was lodged in his shoulder. Somehow, the slight touch was comforting, and it lessened the maddening roar that crashed inside his head. Thank the gods, the mouse had layed down her sword. They were going to let him live? He did not want to jump to conclusions, and shut his eyes, just in case. An eyon passed between them, but his mind was totally focused on the soft paw on his back. Somebeast wanted him to live, and that took away most of his fear. He opened his eyes just a slit, only to find the mouse undoing his dagger belt. _I don't blame 'er_, he thinks drowsily, blinking once before letting his muscles go flacid. With one last sigh to blow away the rest of his fears, he sank into a deep and dreamless sleep, to the sound of the traveler's muffled voices.*

_A heavy sigh of relief escaped Mack and a small, brief smile fluttered across his lips. The hare sat down next to the now sleeping Deathjaw, careful not to remove his paw from the yote's back. Comfort was Mack's strongest trait, as many who knew might have known; he seemed to have sympathy and the want to comfort towards anybeast. __  
  
Removing his cap, Mack revealed the wet, sweaty hair atop his head as he ran a paw through it, smoothing it backwards._ "Riala, say you'll let him, I'll watch, I will.. He be a livin' beast jest like any of us."

**_Atune to all, though he could do little to affect the outcome, Rook stood silent, almost pensively as Mack pleaded for the life of a beast who had every intention of tasting the blood from each and every one of them. His thoughts were fraught with the powerful, almost unrestrainable urge to knock the doddering old fool away from Bloodfur's side and slit the yote wide like a carp. How could one be so absolute in his forgiveness? Such compassion and selflessness was far beyond the icy Rook, which made him feel a certain sense of contempt for Mackbry in that brief span of time. Usually given to locking away his thoughts and notions behind an impassive, placid face, Rook could not help but utter venomously_**   
  
"Hmph....I swear that kind heart will be your end one these days, Mackbry. What good is honor while you rot in the ground? It may save your name, but not your life."

_All that was heard for the next few seconds was the peaceful chattering of birds and the gentle waving of tree branches as silence overtook Mack. A wave of sadness swept over the elderly hare, knowing his life had been far different from that of many warriors at Fort Ruddler; he simply looked at life from a different view. __  
  
Slowly his paw lifted to place his cap atop his head as he stood up. The hare leaned thoughtfully on his spear for a few seconds before finally replying to Rook's comments._   
  
"Well," _he began, his voice soft and gentle,_ "pr'aps you're right, Rook. What good is it if I save my name, but not my life?" _Mack stopped as he asked this question, his face surprisingly serene and peaceful. Suddenly a brief smile fluttered across his lips as he snorted softly._ "But pers'nly, I'd rather die knowin' I did all I could in my life t'be a good an' honorable beast, than die knowin' that I saved m'own skin at the extent of other's sacrifice. Tis jest m'own thinkin' though, an' that be how I intend on livin' m'life. I wasn't born a warrior, my dad an' mum weren't warriors an' even after they died I didn't become a warrior. Even now I ain't a warrior, I'm a fighter; I jest fight when I need to. It adapted as I b'came a traveler, jest t'protect m'self an' others. There should be no other reason for killin' a beast an' this one here ain't goin' t'danger nobeast in that condition."

Riala listens to each of the arguments, for and against the 'yote's life, and finally sheaths her dagger with a sigh. "Mackbry..." She hesitates, eyes shadowed as she debates within on what to say, what not to say, and finally nods. "Very well. You're right in that this creature probably can't hurt anybeast much, not in his condition, but we're not going to wait for the 'yote to get better. If you can forgive his trying to kill you, then that's your choice... you can stay with him, I'm not going to try to stop you, but I'm not going to wait up for you either. We're already too far behind on this mission to make any more stops than necessary."   
  
She pauses as if about to say something more, the words running through her head but not reaching her lips: _Sometimes I wish I could be as honorable as you... that I could be merciful... but all my experience says mercy is death, and not just for one's self but for others as well. Mack..._ but she doesn't say it, doesn't reveal her emotions, her thoughts. They remain locked inside, as ever they have.

*Live. The monster was going to live. The mouse nodded to herself, leaning gently on her swordblade. She couldn't help but give the old hare credit, he was a strange fighter, indeed. Wise and trustworthy, yes, but strange. He fought for nobility, something lost to many fighters as the seasons turn their hearts cold. It was a trait she respected most about him. But what of this primitive and murderous creature? It's life rested in their paws. They could rid the world of it's rampages right now, save future lives, stop the tyranny before it started. Still, her trust was firmly placed in the elderly hare, and she would continue to stand by him.*   
  
"Nothing you say can change my mind about this creature..." She starts, placing a paw on Mackbry's shoulder. "He will always be a monster in my eyes. But I swear to assist you in any way I can, you have my trust."

**_Dissatisfied with the response given by his friend and prone to having his word be final, Rook spat violently upon the ground, a few inches from the immobile Deathjaw's still form_**   
  
"There are many among us who weren't born from warrior's blood. My father was a humble fisherbeast, like his father before him and so on. My mother wove nets of kelp, living righteously a-and h-hon-honorably.....AND THEY BOTH DIED DIRTY DEATHS AT THE PAWS OF CUT-THROATS LIKE THIS BLOODY YOTE! WHY DO WE ALWAYS HAVE TO PLAY BY THE FAIR AND NOBLE RULES? It's just a p-pathetic excuse and so incredibly weak.........***_Rook paused and blinked rapidly. His voice had been rising, building to a hateful crescendo, and the otter realized his paws were shaking with a leashed fury that clouded his often sound judgement. He dipped his sleek head and let the air about them expand in his chest_***.....I'd best g-go before I say something that will have me apologizing later. Excuse me, Riala...."

"Thank you, Riala." _Mack said with a curt nod and a weak smile in the squirrel's direction. Although his heart did not rejoice, he was happy inside for he had saved a helpless creature...for now; just how long would Deathjaw remain helpless? __  
  
Mack, of all beasts, feared the massive canine. What if Deathjaw was to attack? To hurt some creature of their party? To kill them? Life wouldn't be the same, guilt would reign supreme on the hare's conscience, he'd have to leave the fort, leave all his fri-   
  
Suddenly a soft paw upon his shoulder and a quiet voice interupted his thoughts. It was a surprising feeling. Despite all Mack did to comfort others, rarely did others try to comfort him. It was strange, especially coming from Moonrose._   
  
"Th...thank you, Moonrose." _The hare faltered with another weak smile. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad it looked, as soon as Bloodfur was found Deathjaw was very likely to forget the travelers._ "Yes, thank you." _He repeated, his voice once more steady. __  
  
Without warning Rook's shouts of anger broke the comforting spell of silence, snapping Mack's mind back into full power. In spite of their friendship, Mack knew little of Rook's past and his face saddened as he listened to the outraged otter's voice rise with every word. Rook soon finished, however, and and seemed to startle even himself._ "Rook..." _Mack began, but stopped himself._ "Er...yes Riala, pr'aps y'should all continue on. I'll stay with Deathjaw until he wakes then join you at the hedgehog's village. If they wish him not to be in their village, I'll sleep away from it with him."

Riala flinches at Rook's outburst, his impassioned words about the fallisty of honor hitting a little too close to her own unspoken thoughts. She watches helplessly as the otter storms off, wishing she could do something, but knowing no words would heal his pain - just as none had ever balmed hers. _I hate this..._   
  
Mackbry's voice tears her from her thoughts and she nods slowly. "Very well... I hope you're right about the 'yote, Mack." Gold-brown eyes hold a glimmer of concern for the kindly hare, a rare softness in her rough, normally cold tone. "For your sake and his." Then all emotion is pushed aside as so many times before, and her scarred face returns to immobility as she starts down towards the hedgehog tribe.   
  
"Everything's all right..." she tells the spiked warriors. "We've subdued the attacker. Have you found any sign of a young canine?"   
  
The hedgehogs glance at each other, and then one burly cinnamon-colored female steps forwards, an angered expression on her face at the mention of a canine. "Aye, we did," she says curtly. "M'son disappeared a few days ago an' we found a monstrous dog-cretter wi' my Loam's scent all o'er him. Huh, should _say_ we captured 'im, an' 'e's awaitin' trial back at camp, though I don' see why we'm givin' him a chance t'defend hisself! Clearly guilty, I say- he et my Loamyyyy!" The name ends in a wail, and the hogwife bursts into tears.

*The cub breathed a gusty sigh, wriggling ever so slightly to itch his back on the rough ropes that binded him. His red footpaws had long since fallen asleep; he had been stuck in that tent for days. He tried to wiggle his toes, only to send small needles of pain coursing through his foot. His dark-amber eyes had scoured every inch of the surrounding burlap tent, trying to find some way to pass the time, and finding nothing to amuse himself. The young canid sighed again, trying desperately not to let his fear mount against him as the noise outside the tent flap grew. _'Stay calm, you must have a clear head in all situations_,' his mother had told him. He tried his best, but he could feel his heart dropping to his stomach as one of the hedgepigs claimed him guilty, which would explain the sudden nausia. He whimpered a bit, trying not to make to much noise lest the spikedog elders come in and cuff him again. With a deep breath he closed his eyes, trying to imagine Uncle Deathjaw bursting in to save him, cutting his bindings with one quick slash of a dagger, and sweeping him out to the safty of his tribe. That thought comforted him some, at least enough to open his eyes. Scanning the surrounding area and finding it empty still, he sighed once again. He had too much time on his paws, and it would all be spent waiting.*

The sight of his mother in tears prods the shame-faced Loam into action. He walks forward slowly, footpaws dragging in the dirt, eyes cast downwards. "Mummy..." he says quietly, guilt thick in his tone, "Um, Bloodyfur's m'friend. We's just playin', an' then I left an' got losted, an'..."   
  
The hedgewife's eyes go wide at the sound of her son's voice, and she runs to him, patting him all over to check for injuries, wiping off his filthy cinnamon-colored face with the hem of her tunic and generally making a huge fuss over the little hedgehog. The sheepish look on Loam's face quickly fades to long-suffering irritation as a stream of words pours from his mother's snout. "Oh m'Loamrose I thought ye be dead I couldn't find ye anywhere and that 'or'ble dog-creature had your scent all over 'im and I thought he et ye an' don't e'er do that t'me again I was worried 'arf t'death an' ..."   
  
The corners of Riala's mouth quirk up into something that might be called a smile, and she shakes her head. _A strange hedgehog... but then most of their kind are odd..._


	12. Wayside Patrol - Partings and Endings

_A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a huge IC mission roleplayed out by many different players.  I haven't edited anything (spelling, grammar, tense, post order, etc) yet, and I might not get around to it for a while simply because this is such a long thread.  I hoe you can still follow it._

_ The only character I wrote the part of was Riala, although NPCs such as Loam and the hedgehog tribe and the leveret were written mostly by me, occasionally by other people.  Many of the other roleplayers simply stopped roleplaying, and so towards the end the only people still roleplaying were myself, Mackbry, and Moonrose._

**Wayside Patrol – Partings and Endings**

With Loam returned unharmed, the hedgehog tribe has no qualms about releasing Bloodfur. They go as far as to cautiously tend Deathjaw and even build the first waystation. The patrollers, meanwhile, are given a very warm welcome: a feast and a night's shelter. The tribe has no trouble realizing the benefit that a patrol would give them, and go out of their way to help the fortbeasts.   
  
The patrol leaves early the next morning and sets a steady, brisk pace, managing to keep it up over the next few weeks. Interruptions are few and far between, routing the occasional hostile vermin being one of the only difficulties. Supplies are plentiful, injuries are superficial, and morale is high as they finish the ninth waystation.   
  
It is half a day's travel into the Emerald Grove that they find the village.   
  
Riala is on scouting duty and on her own this time, as her partner had twisted an ankle earlier in the morning. She is in the treetops, always more comfortable in the forest canopy than on land, moving at a steady pace from limb to limb. A slight shift in wind ruffles red-brown fur and she pauses, nose twitching as the breeze touches her face.   
  
_Smoke...?_   
  
Tufted ears prick forward and swivel back, straining for noise of forest life. The birds have gone silent, and that means danger to the squirrel's woodland-trained mind. She tenses as a sound not made by any bird cuts through the air. It is an unearthly wail of heart-rending grief.   
  
Her nerves yell for caution, but her instincts urge speed. Experience says her instincts are trustworthy, and Riala breaks into a flat-out run for the source of both smoke and scream. Scarred paws become a blur on rough bark as she leaps from limb to limb, tree to tree, brought to a halt at last by an abrupt absence of trees as the forest gives way to a clearing.   
  
It was a village once, that much is clear with one glance. A dozen wooden huts circle a tall fire, hot enough to reach the squirrel with its warmth. The village is a small one, holding no more than twelve families - once. Now the emptied town holds only ghosts and the raging funeral pyre in the village's center.   
  
Ghosts and a pyre and a grieving leveret, her once gray-green tunic and blue-gray fur stained dark with blood.   
  
Riala turns in the direction of the rest of the patrol and lets loose a chittering cry that echoes throughout the grove, and then she focuses again on the leveret, who hasn't looked up from the flames even once. She drops to the ground silently, but this time the hare's long ears prick up at the faint thud of paws on loam. The leveret whirls, face streaked with tears, light brown eyes red with grieving, a naked dagger gripped in one bloodstained paw.   
  
With a shock, Riala recognizes herself in the young hare's face. The grief warring with hatred is the mirror of her soul all those seasons ago, when she stood before her father's funeral pyre... except the leveret lets her tears flow free where Riala has locked hers inside for seasons. For her entire life.   
  
Gold-brown eyes lock with light brown, and they share a silent understanding for a long moment as the patrol reaches the clearing...

_Mack ambled quickly through the forest, avoiding as many twigs and dry leaves as possible. Smoke, first it had been smoke he smelled, soon followed by Riala's loud cry in the traveling party's direction. Something had to be wrong. __  
  
Finally the hare broke the cover of a thick group of birch trees to find himself staring at the once-was village in flames. He ground to a halt, his spear suddenly becoming slick in his paws as the truth sunk in. But where was Riala?   
  
His question was soon answered as he gazed around in frozen shock for a moment. There she was, oh, and a young leveret was near her. Slowly, so as not to surprise the pair, Mack made his way around the burned frame of a building until he was at Riala's side._   
  
"Riala?" _The elderly hare said softly, no other words conjurable at the moment._

She shakes her head silently as Mack speaks her name in a tentative query. "I can only guess what happened here," the squirrel says, voice unusually soft, and leaves the hare to make his own conclusions about the village as she walks slowly towards the leveret, doing her best to seem unthreatening. The leveret's dagger remains upraised, her muscles tensed, but she makes no move as Riala continues towards her and stops a length from the funeral pyre, nearly abreast with the young hare.   
  
There is silence, with the only sound being that of the crackling fire. The squirrel stares into the flames, mesmerized by images of the past, her own thoughts, and the thought of what had happened here. It is she who ends the quiet, her rough voice softer than normal, barely audible except by the leveret's sharp ears.   
  
"Your family?"   
  
A small nod, almost invisible, and the tears well up anew in the young hare's light brown eyes.   
  
"What happened?"   
  
Silence from the leveret for several long moments, but finally she speaks in a voice gone cold, emotionless, as if someone else was talking through her. The trauma had seared life from her voice, leaving only tears and little else. "Vermin. Killed everybeast. Didn't steal anything, didn't take slaves. Just killed. They didn't find me. I was in the woods. But I saw it. And I built the fire for them."   
  
Her lip trembles on the last sentence, but she bites it and it stills. Riala watches with a growing fury in her shadowed gaze. "Which way did they go? How many?"   
  
The leveret draws a deep breath and calm seems to settle on her like a cloak as she recalls facts, eschewing emotion from it as best she can. "They went north. There weren't as many as the villagers. But we aren't warriors." Fire and fierceness and anger drive out grief momentarily, and Riala again sees herself in the hare's brown eyes. "I'm going to be a warrior. I won't let this happen again. Ever." It has the forcefulness of an oath from the heart, one she'd rather die than break, like the one Riala had made so many seasons ago - that she'd kill the one who murdered her father.   
  
_And I did... and where did that bring me?_   
  
She doesn't need to ask. She knows the answer, and she does not like it. Without thinking, she makes a decision and an oath.   
  
_I will not let this young one become like me. I will not let her grow up full of hatred, twisted by vengeance-lust._   
  
But how to do that? The leveret will grow into a warrior; that is her oath and it will not, should not be broken. How to somehow aid her to live without the soullessness that comes from hate?   
  
_By not giving her the chance to live a life seeking for vengeance..._   
  
Riala nods slowly, the flames of the funeral pyre reflected in shadowed gold-brown eyes turned hard with determination and a new purpose.   
  
_By destroying those who destroyed this village._

*Moonrose walked in silence, plagued by the tiny Bloodfur. The red-hued pup had decided that the albino was to be his new traveling companion, at the advice of Loam, and rarely left her side. The 'yotes' had decided to travel with the Fortbeasts, insistent on assisting them for the rest of their journey. With a sigh, the mouse quickened her pace, annoyed by the young one's constant presence.*   
  
"Why does Mackaberry 'ave long ears, Mooneywose?" The dibbun asked, tugging at her black cloak. He had become very admirable of the hares in the traveling party, having never seen something as fleet and as jolly.   
  
*The mouse gave him an irritated side glance, not answering. A light breeze brought a familiar scent to her nose. Fire. Seeing Mack break from the group, the albino followed without hesitation.*   
  
"Stay here, pup," She told Bloodfur as she dashed away.   
  
*The scene was horrendous. It made the calloused warrior halt in her tracks and hold back a gurgled scream. The scent of burning flesh and hair was sickening, and she choked on the death-filled air around her. The stench alone made her stomach churn nausiously. Amist the burning and the carnage were Mackbry and Riala. She recognized their forms immediately. Jogging closer, she sees a small leveret, covered in a gritty mixture of blood and tears. Her keen ears perk up from undernieth the heavy black hood, catching some of their conversation with the younge one over the roar and crackle of the fire.*   
  
"I'm going to be a warrior. I won't let this happen again. Ever."   
  
*A small tug at the corner of her cloak brought her swimming back to reality. It was Bloodfur. His eyes were filled with horror as he gazed on into the fire-strewen clearing. The mouse could only imagine in terror what his keen nose was filling him with. Though this was no place for the pup, she didn't have the breath to send him back. What was done was done, and he had already seen the worst of it. She hoped.*   
  
"M-M-Mooneywose?" He asked, trembling slightly as he clutched her skirts. His eyes were dry, in a state of terror beyond tears. "Will we die too?"

Tufted ears twitch at Bloodfur's frightened question and the squirrel turns, gold-brown eyes holding the shadowed steel of death's promise. It is not aimed towards the 'yote, however, and her chill words make her target clear. "You won't die, not you nor the leveret - not today. Those who did this" and the flick of the night-cold gaze is all that is needed to show what she speaks of "will never kill anybeast... ever again."   
  
Riala glances to Mackbry, then to Moonrose. "There's no more than two dozen vermin, from what the hare says. The patrol can take them, but somebeast will have to remain behind with the young ones."   
  
"No!" The adamant protest explodes from the leveret and she steps in front of Riala as if blocking her way, light brown eyes flashing. "I'm going to be a warrior! I'm coming to fight them!"   
  
Something flickers in the squirrel's gaze and is gone, but for a second her normally stone features had gone soft and sympathetic. "You will not do much good as a warrior if you get yourself killed before you have learned to lift a blade," she says, rough voice unusually quiet. "Stay out of this one. Train, learn, become a warrior in skill _and_ heart - free of hate and vengeance-lust. _Then_ you can truly fulfill your goal... you can prevent something like this from happening again. Will you do that?" Her tone is not condescending; it's that of one talking to an equal, and her question holds complete seriousness.   
  
A long moment passes and then the leveret nods, eyes never wavering from the squirrel's. She doesn't move as the rest of the patrol enters the clearing, as one creature volunteers to stay with the two younglings. She remains rooted to the spot, serious and silent, watching as the patrol disappears on the trail of the vermin who destroyed all that she had known and all that she held dear.

*A/N: Just to clarify things, this is a really _weird _post from the POV of Riala while she's bloodwrathy.  Scary.*  
  
_find them_   
  
The steady drum of paws on loam, the blur of green-brown-gray in peripheral vision, the scent of fur and upturned loam and fading smoke behind. An entire patrol on the trail of   
  
_vermin - slay filth shed foul_   
  
An acrid taste on the breeze that scatters fur and leaves and thought. The twitch of tufted ears at the ghost-murmur of distant voices, a narrowing of gold-brown eyes flecked now with red-death mist at the sound and the thought of   
  
_blood - on my blade my paws my_   
  
Shadows deepening, darkening, moving in a sound-dead forest. Ahead the dying, believing they will never die, laughing, fangs and blades flashing in grins, forgetting already teh screams the pain the child's tears the pyre... and behind, still wailing their silent siren song of grief and pain to a mourning hare and a soul-scarred squirrel are   
  
_ghosts - demanding restless crying for_   
  
A wolf's howl raising chills and hackles, war's omen, death's trumpet on the chilling wind. Golden brown now darkened, shadowed, now flooded with misting red becoming a torrent. Firelight flickering in uncaring vermin eyes. Laughter, a fang's gleam, red by baleful flame. Silver moon glittering, mingling with sunset and fire on blades scraped by whetstones, erasing chips from slashing against bones of innocence, erasing all memory of   
  
_death - for these for blood for innocence for lives gone for_   
  
A wordless yell, bloodwrath taking over, ignoring the hare who says to calm, to wait, to strategize... ignoring reason and sense and instead drawing blade, whirling roce. Footpaws running as hated vermin stare and the stare is fixed forever with dagger's thrust with stick's crash. Not seeing not hearing not feeling as the foe fights back as blades bite into crazed red-brown fur stained dark with death with blood with fury. Not noticing the patrol charge in joining in battle in killing, only thinking and desiring   
  
_REVENGE_

_* * *_

The battle was met under a blood red sky. With a primal roar, Moonrose threw herself into the fray, hacking mercilessly at the vermin around her. Mercy was for the weak, she could feel the angry hatred coursing through her veins like a poison, numbing her from any pain inflicted by a foe's blade. Her white fure soon became stained with dark crimson blood as her blade sliced through a foebeast's ribs, and she smiled in grim satisfaction as she watched him fall. She wheeled, her sword becoming a silver arch as it sliced through flesh and bone alike. There were beasts everywhere; screams of pain, the clang of metal on metal, battle cries, all rose to meet the oncoming night. Yet still, the orange and red of sunset clung to the darkening sky, batteling against the blue velvet night and the dewdrop stars for control of the vast sky. The mouse remembered fighting like this before, the same blood hung over her head, the same hatred brimmed in her heart. Her eyes had become an angry red, glittering with rage in the battlelight. She had lost all sence of it all, she was half-mad and bloodthirsty. The feeling of death that haunted her past suddenly errupted inside her brain, transforming the mouse into a maddened monster, death in itself. With a crazed laugh she swung her blade about threateningly, smiling maddly and calling out the heavens in a racaucious voice, which cut through the battlenoise and echoed in the empty sky.*   
  
"HAVE AT YE, VERMIN SCUM!"   
  
*She advanced, both paws on the handle of her double-bladed sword and swinging hard. She had become a kill-crazy demon, and her blade flashed at anything that moved. Somewhere or other she had lost the tip of her ear. A dagger burried itself in her sholder, causing her to stumble, but in her crazed state she was oblivious of the pain. Removing the bloodied dagger from her tender flesh, the mouse emitted an earsplitting roar and flung the blade from her, smiling grimly as the blade found its mark in the throat of a vermin. _You will not live to harm a goodbeast ever again!!_ roared in her mind, repeating each time a foe fell to her whistling blade. She was gone. Moonrose was gone. She roared in maddened laughter that cut through the deafening melee, foreign and unbidden to her throat, but it wound around her tongue and escaped into the night. She could feel the corners of her mouth unwillingly curl into a demonic smile. The sight alone made the courage-lacking vermin hesitate to meet her challenging eyes. She fought, a bloodied, red-eyed monster that was heedless to caution and everywhere at once. A fighter. A ghost. A Fighting Ghost.*

*Deathjaw let forth a war-howl that would have sent shivers down even the most callused and black-hearted vermin's spine. His daggers were flying in all directions, followed by his blood-covered claws and dripping fangs. He was a primal monster from a nightmare, with bloodshot eyes and gaping jaws. A fox tried to pin him with his rusty cutlass, waving it threateningly to the bigger canid. With a throaty growl, the yote lifted him easily, and ripped him into two pieces with his bare paws. Many of the vermin had never seen a coyote before, and this massacre struck fear into their hearts as they turned tail, clambering over each other in an attempt to escape the enraged canine.*   
  
"NOBEAST 'ARMS ME MATES!" Deathjaw let loose a bloodcurdling howl as he tackled another foe, easily tearing him apart. "**_LUUUUAAANNAAAAAAAAA_**!!!"   
  
*He was a sight to behold, bloodied muzzle and paws, slobber and foam building at the corners of his mouth. He licked his crimson chops as he spotted a nearby rat, firing arrows into the melee.*   
  
"Fresh meat..."

**_Meandering about the dense foliage of the village outskirts, and quite content to watch the fighting rather than risk his own life, a single rat grips the haft of his spear, debating whether or not he should take up the battle. Before his mind can reach a solid conclusion, a pair of lissom arms slip around his neck with frightening professonalism. With the glint of twin daggers being drawn back, the rat's head lolls as though on a swivel, a warm and ruddy cascade spilling down his front. Suddenly, the body is launched violently forward with a powerful shove, where it tumbles into the side of a burning hut and ceases twitching. Stepping from the surrounding, as though being born from them, Rook emerges at ready, his fur bristling in malice as a pair of stoats charge, swords held high. Ducking beneath the swipe of the first attacker, Rook lashes out with his leg, catching the stoat in the back and knocking him off balance. Then, the otter clashes with the second assailant, dodging and slashing with both daggers, his hackles drawn up in a fearsome snarl. Stumbling back to the battle, the first foe thrusts his blade upwards and catches Rook in the shoulder, just beneath the bone. Crying out in pain, the otter delivers a hefty blow to the second stoat and turns on the first with unparrelled fury, grabbing the unfortunate beast by the scruff of his neck and driving his knee up in the vermin's gut. Before the stoat can draw a second breath, his wrist is bent back and twisted around the otter's scarred arm. A sudden jerk and a loud pop heralds the stoat's screams as his arm hangs limp at his side, wrenched from the socket. Swept to his knees, the blubbering beast is then kicked in the face for his underhanded attack and left to suffer while Rook searches for another to fight._**

****

Thoroughly winded from the run to catch up to the others that so willingly charged ahead, Mack finally broke the cover of the thick shrubbery, his spear whirling. For a second, the elderly hare though his eyes were decieved him, a red mouse? But no, it was Moonrose who stood just a few feet in front of him, her eyes a dangerous shade of crazed red.   
  
Quickly dashing away from the length of her sword, Mack let out a bloodcurtling cry as he charged a squinting weasel. "Swords of justice, Arise! EULALIAAAAA!" The hare's spear weaved a lethal path through the air, finding the middles of any vermin near him as it turned to a near blur. A few quick knocks to the skull and shoulder sent a rat to his knees where the bloodied tip of spear was the last thing to met his vision as it whistled towards his head.   
  
Mack's gray fur was soon splattered with blood of his pown and that of the enemy, his tunic torn in many places, his cap swept away by an angry cutlass, and his spectacles cracked and broken. A ferret suddenly charged the hare from behind and made the fatal mistake of plunging the tip of a rusty saber into the back of Mack's left shoulder. He suddenly arched backward in pain as his teeth grinded together. Flashing around, the hare faced the sneering face of the dark brown ferret, still holding the bloodied saber in one paw and a broken stick in another. As he turned, the butt of Mack's spear slammed into the ferret's stomach, causing the ferret to double in pain. The hare didn't give him a chance to wallow in his agony, however, for the head of his spear soon followed, slashing a dangerous course acorss the ferret's face.   
  
He could feel it, he could just feel it, Mack was losing control of his entire left arm, it was just too painful to move. Without the use of both arms, his spear was useless. Sighting on a weasel who's height had somehow been stunted at birth, Mack let his spear fly. Seconds later the weasel keeled over, the spear through his neck. Mack bent over and picked up the saber of a dead stoat and scrambled back into the fray.

*Moonrose let loose a crazed peal of laughter as a stoat fell at her blade, its head lolling forward and blood squirting forth from its neck. She was unstoppable. She felt invincible. Everything had turned a shade of deep crimson, blurred with rage. She swung her sword heavily, aiming where life bubbled close to the surface, hacking and slashing, her blade being met by pained screams and dying gasps. Blood had saturated her right sholder, soaking her arm in her own blood as the dagger wound clensed itself. The sky was darkening over the melee, as the last surviving light of sunset died a slow and agonizing death at the jet-black fingers of the night. Grinning like a madman, the blood-stained albino let loose a triumphant roar as she threw herself at a weasle, sword in left paw, blade meeting blade with numbing force. Their whiskers touched, her red-crazed eyes smiled with evil intent.*   
  
~*His eyes were wide with fear, never before had he seen such a demon. Her eyes... they burned with hellfire, and she could not feel the white-pain of his blade. He sunk the cutlass deep into her unguarded side, into her footpaw, and still she advanced, laughing like a maniac and howling like an injured wolf.*~   
  
*The mouse sneered into his frightened face, her ghastly appearence sending chills through his quivering body. She raised her blade, an adder poised to strike. Without warning, she lurched forward with a gurgling noise, her blood-red eyes rolled back in her head. It hurt to draw breath, she could no longer lift her blade. What was going on? Seeing his oppertunity, the weasle brought the handle of his cutlass down hard on the back of the smaller beast's neck, snarling in satisfaction as she fell, an arrow sticking out of her back like a ship's mast and pinning her bloodied and torn black cloak to her flacid body. Assuming he had broken her neck with his blow, the weasle jumps back into the frey, leaving her for dead.*   
  
_Strange... _her brain slowly ran incoherant things around, her mind reeling and her world growing hazy. She watched the battle through hooded eyes, watching as the silluettes of beasts blurred together, watching as night finally fell. _Very strange... something... over the battle noise.... it's me... me, me, me..... my blood...I can hear it... dripping on the grass.... Mackbry?..... Rook? Riala?...... Am I dead? I don't want to be dead..... No... Not dead...... It hurts to breath... I am not dead... Not dead..._   
  
*The mouse let loose a tired sigh, closing her bloodshot eyes and still gripping her bloodied sword tightly in her left paw. She felt oddly calm, despite the arrow deeply driven into her back, drifting off and up, and for a split second, she thought she saw Mackbry's cap, blood-spattered and laying on the ground a few feet from her. But the image quickly faded, and the surrounding world darkened into an eerie silence, a deathly silence.*

Riala is a whirlwind of death, dagger flashing red with vermin blood as it darts in and out of hated flesh, roce turning slick and dark from crashing onto heads and into ribs and smashing faces into pulp. Her lips are pulled back from her teeth in a feral grin, her ears pinned flat against her head. Red mist, the color of blood, the color of rage, has driven back the shadows in gold-brown eyes until it is all that remains. Has driven back thought and reason and emotion until all that controls the whirling stick and flashing knife is a blind desire for _death._   
  
A vermin's scimitar etches a line of fire across her middle but she doesn't feel it, doesn't care. It only fuels the bloodwrath that fills her mind with hate and bloodlust, and she turns, rust-gold tail lashing with fury. Her roce flies and the rat's head is smashed, blood splattering onto the forest-shaded tunic and onto the scarred red-brown fur.   
  
_hate kill fury rage blood blood blood DEATH_   
  
Wanting only to kill, seeing each moving body as only another target, another enemy, another death. Slashing, clubbing, killing, ignoring the growing wounds on her body, ignoring the pain that the unthinking bloodwrath drives back. Breaking through the vermin, past the battle into a sudden lack of war... Enraged at the lack of targets as the battle tapers off, the patrollers winning at last. Not remembering who is friend and who is foe, only seeing bodies to kill, to slay, to destroy...   
  
_kill shed blood slaughter slay destroy KILL!_   
  
Diving towards the nearest creature with a wordless scream, wild and bloodthirsty and chilling, death's siren call. Dagger loosed from a scarred paw, embedding itself in the flesh of one who is unable to believe that this familiar friend has become a foe. Roce crashing down, blocked by a reluctant saber, a gray-whiskered face contorted with yelled protests, trying to reach past the blind killer to the comrade within, his words falling uncomprehended on tufted ears laid flat against a scarred head.   
  
_"RIALA! STOP!!"_   
  
Stick crashing down again, again, again, blocked each time by the saber but for how long? Snarling, furious that this blade denies her the life she wants to take! _kill must kill must KILL_   
  
_"RIALAAAA!"_ The cry, desparate, not wanting to have to harm a friend who seems a stranger, a friend bloodwrath has twisted into a feral monster.   
  
_riala_   
  
Faltering, the name slamming against the rage cloaking her mind, stick raised to crash down once more.   
  
_riala Riala RIALA_   
  
Red mist thinning, letting gold-brown gleam through, confused and lost.   
  
_no reason ye couldn't live the rest of yer life happy_   
  
Remembering a tavern, words spoken in a first conversation, a rare time she allowed a glimpse to her heart.   
  
_mackbry?_   
  
The light of recognition beginning to return to battlecrazed gaze, focusing on gray whiskers and long ears.   
  
"Mackbry...?"   
  
Spoken in a hesitant voice, raw with yelling, only just now realizing what has happened.   
  
"What did I...?"   
  
Gold-brown eyes stare at her own dagger buried in the hare, shock spreading over the scarred face, and she steps back in horror and fear... fear of herself.   
  
"That's my dagger... I..."   
  
The final cries of battle begin to die as the last of the vermin are fought to the death, but somehow the sounds of the fight are distant, almost unheard. Riala is caught in the horror of what she has done, what she has allowed bloodwrath to do, and she backs away slowly, something akin to fear in her eyes. Fear of herself...   
  
"First Teltoli... now Mackbry..." Her faltering words are whispered with eyes wide with shock. "I would have killed you..."

Mack's breath faltered as he fell to his knees, a dark red stain spreading across the back of his tunic, encircling the dagger that Riala had so unknowingly plunged into his back. His left arm flapping uselessly at his side, he stuck the tip of the saber into the ground before him and leaned heavily on it. Strangely, as he looked downward, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the hare managed a slight, painfully contorted smile towards the ground.   
  
"But," he coughed out, his voice faltering for a second, "ye didn't." Blood dribbled down from his nose and he could taste it in his mouth, it was a foul taste. The hare looked up at Riala, as if trying to somehow reasure her in some way. "Riala-" He coughed and sputtered for a few seconds before continuing. "It...well, tisn't yer fault." A few short words was all he was able to manage, he could feel the dagger burning in his back, threatening to pierce his lungs if pushed any farther.   
  
"Could somebeast-" Mack said with a furious grinding of his teeth, tossing his head back to indicate the dagger, "hurts more in...than out."

**_The shouts and cries of conflict began to taper off with the realization that there was no standing off against the tourbillion of death and steel that carried the Hellgates along in her paws, namely Riala. Those who turned to flee were greeted by an enraged Rook who'd witnessed the fall of an albino mouse he secretly admired; Moonrose's blood, mixing with soil. How much was hers, and how much was theirs? All of it will be theirs now! I'll drink it, bathe in it, season my food with it, and paint her name with it, over and over and over again!!!! _****_  
  
Moving like a chimera, concocted from a frail mind, Rook darted through those who were intent on fleeing, his blades ambling across vermin chests, stomachs and throats as they scratched and bit, trying to rake his eyes. One managed to thrust a dagger up into Rook's shoulder, but it registered as a bramble scratch might and was forgotten in the wet, crimson sound of twin daggers being plunged down into soft flesh once, twice, thrice and no more. The harsh snap of bone followed and the tearing of cloth sounded after that, though both brought stillness. There were no more to fight. All who had come that way were down, either groaning, or silent with their eyes glazed and harsh in death. Rook tottered on his feet, his tunic ripped, his daggers dripping steadily, a mix of stinging sweat and tepid blood. His facial expression was one of anguish and remorse, his shoulders hunched, breathing ragged, ribcage visible through a thin layer of tawny muscle and vermillion_**   
  
"....sorry...i-i'm late....wen-t-t...my seperate...w-way..."   
  
**_Moving as though in a trance, Rook stumbled over to where Moonrose lay and, without resistation, swept the frail figure up into his paws and hugged her tight to his matted chest, muttering brokenly_**   
  
"....s-somebeast take her...take from me an-and help this good m-mouse....don't die..."

*Approaching the last of the Fort's battlers, the canid took a knee, as was custom in his tribe, and mumbled a prayer of blessing. It was a blessing well deserved, he had seen friends fall, bloodied and torn, screaming all the way to the Dark Forest Gates. Though he was now completely sane, he was horrendous looking, blood covering his jaws and muzzle, dribbling down his chest, pieces of flesh cruely twisted from his foe lay matted into his fur, his paws up to his elbows dripped lifeless blood.*   
  
"May Mother Luna always keep ye safe from 'arm."   
  
*He then turned to Mackbry, the bloodied hare who had helped him and protected him in his time of need when no one else would. The dagger in his back seemed out of place, like a river in the middle of the desert. A red river. A river of blood. He had seen the alpha do it. Without a word, the yote placed a bloody paw on the handle of the blade and with a quick tug freed it from the hare's body.*   
  
"There y'are, mate... Best staunch that wound afore y' bleed t' death..."   
  
*Deathjaw turned to face the blood-strewn land with a face unreadable, blotted with the bodies of both friend and foe. There was a good side to being a killer, you have no remourse.*

"Hellgates...!"   
  
Riala stares at the deep wound her dagger has made in Mackbry's back, at the dark stain spreading across the hare's tunic. She stares, unable to speak, unable to act, as Deathjaw pulls the weapon out. She stares, for once in her life not knowing what to do, unable to do anything, unable to act.   
  
_Best staunch that wound afore y' bleed t' death..._   
  
Deathjaw's voice breaks through her trance and the strange immobility that freezes her in place. Paws ripping at her frayed and cut tunic - _going to have to get a new one_ floats across her mind, a thought that is out of place in the situation, distant and detached - she covers the distance between herself and Mackbry in two quick strides. There's no clean cloth, not after a battle; the best she can do is to bind the wound to prevent too much blood loss until it can be better treated. Riala ties several strips of her tunic together and wraps them tightly about Mackbry's torso. It immediately turns dark from the blood leaking from the dagger wound.   
  
Another splotch of darkness catches her gaze at the hare's left shoulder where a rusty saber had entered it. This one takes less cloth and less time to bind; it's done in little more than a minute. Riala's face is impassive the entire time, her awareness feeling oddly detached from her body, as if she's looking down on the scene from above. Only the wide gold-brown eyes betray the fear and guilt within, as do the words _I'm sorry..._ whispered over and over, as if repitition will remedy what she has done.   
  
_...s-somebeast take her...take from me an-and help this good m-mouse....don't die..._   
  
Rook's stuttered words finally reach the tufted ears, and Riala turns away from Mackbry as if in a dream to see Moonrose, almost unrecognizable with her white fur stained almost completely red.   
  
_Seasons... no..._   
  
She didn't mean to say anything, but the words escape her throat in a whisper. The dimness of early night made it difficult to see the entire scope of the albino's injuries... but the moon's pale light revealed enough to know it was serious. An arrow wound buried in Moonrose's back, the arrow still embedded there...   
  
"I... I'm no healer," she says, gold-brown eyes dark with shared pain. "I can bind wounds, but not much else. I can't take out an arrow... I know you can't just pull it out; the head will do more damage coming out than it did going in... but I don't know how to get it out and I don't know how to find out if the arrow pierced a lung or the heart and I don't know what to do if it did..."   
  
_I don't know what to do!_   
  
She can scarcely keep from screaming the anguished protest that echoes throughout her mind. Thus far she had been able to go by feel, had been able to lead without too much difficulty... She knew how to fight, she knew how to kill, she was able to figure out how to lead a patrol -- but this? Rarely in her life had she come to a situation where she did not have any idea what to do, where to go, how to act. Even when she did, it never affected anybeast save herself if her choice was wrong. Never had she been trapped in a situation when she didn't know what to do, when not knowing what to do could cause somebeast their life. Never... not until now.   
  
_I... don't know what... to do..._

Weakly Mack heaved himself to his feet, leaning so heavily on the saber in front of him that he feared it would snap. Curtly nodding to the blood-red Deathjaw, he did what he could to smile in his pained state before patting the coyote limply on the back. His gray eyes searched the clearing, finally landing on the dead carcass of a weasel, a spear through his neck. The hare scuffled over to the weasel, his height shortened as he bent almost double. His spear retrieved, Mack slowly ambled over to where Rook stood holding Moonrose.   
  
"Here Rook," he said, his words short and sharp as if harder to speak than normal, "lean her up here." Mack gestured towards a large oak as he spread his unharmed cloak (it had been in his haversack during the battle) on the ground before it. The hare pressed his left arm against his stomach to keep it from flopping around uselessly as he slowly, but very deliberately, hobbled to Riala's side. His eyes creased as a brief smile flickered across his face.   
  
"C'mon, I'll help ye with yer wounds." It seemed no more words were required, the subject Mack guessed Riala feared the most was best left untouched.

**_With alacrity, Rook obeyed the hare's order, a flash of pity running the length of his scarred features, creasing them as he gently set Moonrose against the oak's trunk, a few paces from the spot where she'd fallen. That task completed, the otter could do no more and slipped back to crouch several yards away, neglecting the blood that formed brittle tufts of dirty brown in his fur._**

****

****

_Ahh!... that hurt.... Dead?.... can't see.... see.... not dead.... _  
  
*The mouse's bloodied ears twitched ever so slightly, the only thing showing that her heart still beat.*   
  
_So heavy... can't even open my eyes... open my eyes...MY eyes.... My head's 'bout to split..... can't... uhhhnn..._   
  
*Her mind reeled. She was trapped inside her own brain, and it was full of cobwebs and cracks. She still clutched her sword, she felt one arm heavier than the other, though both were numb. She could hear voices, though they were muffled, low murmers whispered into the darkness and scattered by the soft breeze that tickled her whiskers.*   
  
_Can't move.... where?..... Dead?..... it hurts.... _  
  
*She winced inwardly. Soon, though, her mind began to slow, and her thoughts stopped as she drifted into sleep.*

_"C'mon, I'll help ye with yer wounds."_   
  
Gold-brown eyes blinked slowly, bewildered at the hare's words. Wounds...? It was like the word was a key, unlocking the door of shock and the aftermath of bloodwrath that had kept the pain at bay, and the squirrel's wounds made themselves known with a vengeance. A slash on her side, on her arm, on her leg... none so deep as to be much of a threat unless left unattended.   
  
"No... mine aren't bad," she says quietly, though her teeth are clenched as she rips up yet more tunic to bind the cuts. "Help Moonrose... you've probably more experience at healing than I... and she's far worse off."   
  
Finishing at last, Riala limps over to where Moonrose lies and crouches beside the albino mouse, rare concern flickering in her intense gaze. "Don't die on us, mouse..." She hasn't known the albino for long, but she respects her fighting spirit and ability, and she feels somehow responsible for Moonrose's condition. After all, if she hadn't rushed into battle without a moment's planning... if she hadn't let bloodwrath take control...   
  
_hellsteeth... bloodwrath..._   
  
Her wiry frame tenses with the turmoil of emotion that grips her soul in a breath-stealing vise. The bloodwrath... uncontrollable, unpredictable... her bane that drove off all reason, that consumed her mind in fury and bloodthirst so that she could not distinguish friend from foe... With it, she was a danger to all goodbeasts near her. Without it, she could not hold her own in a fight, and otherbeasts could die.   
  
_A mousemaid's dark eyes... a scream... the thud of an arrow in innocent flesh because she **could not get there in time....**_   
  
In that moment, kneeling over the fallen albino's bloodstained body, Riala makes a decision and an oath.   
  
_I will not return to Fort Ruddler. I will not put my comrades... my friends... in danger. I will not have them hurt, maybe killed by my paw._   
  
And Riala never goes back on an oath... she never falters once she has made a decision. It is final and permanent and all that remains is to tell the others that she will not be returning with them - but it is not time for that. First the wounded must be tended to...

Mack's misty gray gaze remained glued to Riala for a few more seconds, there was some strange fire burning in his eyes. Granted of course, there always seemed to be a fire that burned in her eyes, her very soul, but, this time it was....   
  
Unable to find the right word in his silent thoughts, the hare shrugged it away and limped over to Moonrose's still form. "Truth b'told," he began, kneeling by the bloodied mouse's side, "I've no knowledge as t'what ye do with arrow wounds. I know a few poultices I can whip up fer her deeper wounds, but other'n pullin' that arrow out I don't know any other way."   
  
He reached over to a dead weasel nearby and pulled an arrow from an almost empty quiver on the back of the dead beast. It was thin and light, a perfect killing machine. Staring around the clearing, it seemed almost every other arrow scattered on the ground was much the same; thin and light. "Well, I don't think these blokes used barbed arrows, they're thin at the top," Mack said, holding up the arrow he had pulled from the dead weasel's quiver. "Swift, easy killers not meant to cause much torrture. An' they're shaped like thin leaves, not triangles, jest like m'spear. S'long as we're careful, it should come out clean an' we don't seemed t'know any other way."   
  
The gray hare took a deep breath to reassure himself as he turned Moonrose's unconcious form over. A sinkening red stain had form on the cloth that covered her back and the ugly arrow shaft sticking out didn't help make the sight better. Slipping his own belt and stained tunic off, Mack set them off to the side while pulling a flagon half full of water from his haversack. With everything in place, he wiped a nervous paw across his brow and blinked, staring down over the rim of his spectacles at Moonrose. _Hells teeth,_ he could hear a shaky voice in his head say, _don't let me mess up, not with Moonrose._   
  
Taking a firm grip on the arrow, Mack swallowed visably before yanking upward hard. He could feel the pain in his shoulder and back burn painfully, but he didn't stop until the shaft was free of the poor mouse's back. Immediately grappling for the flagon of water, Mack uncorked it and poured it slowly over Moonrose's profusely bleeding back. Once it was moderately clear, he jammed his tunic over it and wrapped his belt around her while turning her over onto her back; he buckled the belt around her middle. Mack's breathing was fast and worried as he sat back, the look of a weary, nervous docter showing clearly on his face. He stared apprehensively around the group before pouring a bit of the water onto his paw and dabbing at Moonrose's brow. "C'mon m'gel, m'friend. C'mon, ye can do it, don't die on us, Moonrose lass."

*It rained. Softly at first, the wispy grey clouds gently misting the ground, but soon the sky was filled with heavy black masses, blocking out the gently glittering stars and breaking open, pouring down buckets of cold, driving rain. Lightning forked its way through the dense sky, like a gash, and with a growl of thunder the clouds knit their own wounds back together, leaving the vague presence of a fading scar if one looked hard enough. It swept over the battlefield, as if the Earth herself were clensing her bloodied face, washing away the stench of death and replacing it with the gentle fragrence of a summer storm. Mud soon burried the dead as it ran from the high hills down to where they lay, foe and friend, akin to each other under the soupy mess. The mouse listened to the sound of the rain slapping the ground furiously, smelt the mud, and felt as rainwater ran through her blood stained fur; fully awake in brain since the removal of the arrow but her body still as death. Mackbry's tendings had helped the wound profoundly, though her mind was still befuddled with randomness and confusion. Water flowed into her ears, her closed eyes, condenced on her whiskers and lashes as it stung in her shoulder, her side, her footpaw, her back. Still she did not move, didn't even bat an eyelash as the water cooled her fevered brow. Her wandering mind drifted far away from the patrolers, far far away on a breeze that smelt of wet grass and rotting roses.*   
  
_Here... Where is here? My back hurts... Rain... love the rain, cold, calm....._ Her thoughts were scattered, like her broken and battered mind could not place them in the right order._ ... the Earth is growling.... not dead.... not dead.... the water smells good, nice......sore...... vermin, why did I kill them?.... them.... them.... her........ why did I kill her.... didn't know... didn't know, not my fault..... didn't know.... can't go back.... so sorry, sorry sorry.......... rain.... love the rain...._

*The yote turned his head to the falling sky, letting the rain drench his fur and wash away the blood and flesh that was not his, letting the cool air fill his lungs to replace the hot, stuffy battle oxygen. The rain would bury the dead, saving them time, and besides sensible purposes, it refreshed him, washed him clean, the pelting drops on his face told him he was still breathing. Shaking himself in the way only canids can, the tribal beast trudged over to the large oak which many beast huddled in shelter from the growling storm. The smell of blood, pain, and terror soon mixed with the sweet smell of rain and oak leaves as the beast entered under the halo of branches. Rain still leaked through the canopy and showered them in water, but it was not as driving as it was outside the tree haven. Spotting the old hare who had protected him, he made his way over, reaching into his vest pocket and producing a few random herbs. For a moment he hesitated, all the beasts seemed worried, pre-occupied with something; maybe he shouldn't interfere.... the beast shrugged it off and strided through, only to stop short at what he saw. That mouse.... familiar... Ah, the one who had struck him. Was she dead? He though for sure one who could strike a yote would be able to survive a simple brawl such as this. The vermin were pushovers, barely worth his time, easy prey. And yet she fell? He shook his head in distain before tapping the hare gently on his uninjured sholder.*   
  
"'Ere, mate..." The canid almost sheepishly handed him the pawful of herbs. "I'm no 'ealer, but m'be these'll make due fer summat while a foraging party 'eads out?"   
  
*He then averted his gaze to the injured mouse. She sure looked dead, if her ears and tail weren't twitching, he predicted they would have burried her by now.*   
  
"Wot's wrong wid 'er?"

"She got an arrer in the back, mate." Gratefully excepting the herbs, the hare slowly turned Moonrose once more onto her front. He reached a paw out and gently pulled back his green tunic, now stained with Moonrose's blood. Ever so gingerly he tucked the strange herbs Deathjaw had given him around Moonrose's wound before replacing the tunic like it had been.   
  
Turning her over once more, Mack then stood up and, surprisingly, wrapped a paw around Deathjaw's broad shoulders. This time, however, the old hare's look did not speak of comfort, it spoke of worry. "The rest be up t'her." Mack's gray eyes sparkled with tears that threatened to spill out at any second and his voice shook as he spoke; truth be told he had little hope for Moonrose and Mack rarely lost hope for anything. Pulling away from Deathjaw, he sniffled a few times before mumbling something about going to find firewood for the night and disappearing into the woods surrounding the clearing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Moonrose Flashback~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
_Why..... it's so dark.... can't see....._ Her mind groggily flew back into wakefullness. Her eyes were open, but she couldn't see.   
  
_That noise, a light, a silluette.... someone's coming in.... Father...? _  
  
The sound of footsteps could be heard creeping across the weathered wooden planks, a shaft of lantern light poured across the floor, distictly showing a long, moving shadow with an outstretched paw.   
  
_No...... then who?..... stranger......_ The mouse's paw instinctivly strayed to her swordblade, which rested on the nightstand next to her cot. A muffled squeal of surprise issued from the shadow. Its paw also rested on the handle.   
  
_NO! THIEF!!_ Her mind roared.   
  
Wrenching the weapon from the stranger's hand, the albino flailed, thrusting it blindly into the darkness. She was rewarded with a gurgle of pain and the sound of blood spattering the floorboards. The lantern hit the floor with a dull clatter, tossing light randomly over the floor and casting wildly dancing shadows along the empty walls.   
  
_Hellsteeth, what have I done..._ The red fog clouding her brain slowly lifted, and the bloodied face of the corpse slowly registered in her mind.   
  
_What have I done................_   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
*The cool smell of rain and the feel of water dripping on her brow slowly dissintegrated the troubling memories and brought her mind back to the dreary present. She tried to move her mouth, her paw, anything, but found them still paralyzed.*   
  
_I am not dead..._ Her mind told her reassuringly. _Not dead._   
  
*A lone tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye- but perhaps it was only rainwater that was trickling down her numbed cheek.*   
  
_Not dead..._

Within the hour the hare had returned, bearing a face that made him look even older than he was. A temporary camp had been set up and the soft pattering of raindrops on the cream-colored canvases of the patrol's tents. Slopping across a ground of mud which formed most of the clearing, Mack dragged a few small logs behind him.   
  
Droplets of water dripped sadly from the brim of his cap, forming a puddle in the middle, and his eyes were red with tears. Mack sloshed his way slowly over to where Riala sat silently by a small fire, her back to the tent in which Moonrose tossed and rolled in her troubled sleep.   
  
"I...I...here," was all Mack could manage and pushed the logs in Riala's direction.

Riala accepted the logs wordlessly, feeding one to the dying fire that captured her whole attention. The dance of hungry flames reflected in her brooding gaze masked the dark shadows flickering within. Rain hissed as it landed on the burning logs, scattered into mist.   
  
_Even the sky weeps..._   
  
Fire twisted about in her mind, a reflection of the red-gold tongues that battled the falling water for survival. The flickering light cast shadows on her thoughts, looming in the corners of her mind, and the flames burned away all words into the velvet muddled state of the in-between. Half conscious, mind emptied, only seeing the flames and only hearing the night.   
  
She spoke without quite realizing it, not certain the emotionless rough voice barely audible above the soft raindrops was her own. "I won't be returning to the fort."

Mack froze, a rain sodden piece of bread half-way to his mouth and his eyes gazing into space. When he finally did move, it was slow and deliberate, movements of a beast injured inside himself. He turned to look at Riala, a deep frown creasing his gray whiskered face.   
  
The patter of rain accompanied the steady stream of water falling from the brim of the old hare's cap as he turned away from the squirrel without a word. He stared downward for a few minutes, concentrating on the forgotten slice of bread as he rolled it over in his paws.   
  
"The land cries it would seem," he finally spoke, his voice quiet and strained as if speaking to himself. "But is it for you?" Strangely, Mack's accent was no longer the thick, cheery one it used to be; it was solemn and reserved, quiet and understanding.   
  
He lifted his gaze once more to look towards Riala and a brief sad but understanding smile flickered across his rain-splashed face. "I won't stop you," the hare exhaled. "I know why you don't think you can stay. Just remember," he said, placing a wet gray paw on the squirrel's shoulder, "you're not who you were..."   
  
Nodding towards her, he turned away and sullenly faced the fire, muttering one last time, "_You're not who you were..._"

The rain passed with the days that followed, each of the patrollers slowly healing from the battle.  They were joined by the twobeasts and younglings that had remained at the massacred village, and still they rested until Moonrose was able to travel, until they were all able to travel.  That day the rising sun silhouetted a lone squirrel, one scarred paw raised in farewell to the patrollers as they turned their faces northward, to Fort Ruddler.  She watched in silence, motionless, until all that remained of the home-returning fortbeasts was only memory, and then she too disappeared into the forest.

_To Sandfur Dunerunner, Drill Sergeant and Infantry Commander of Fort Ruddler:_

_I have proven myself a danger to my comrades in battle, unable to distinguish friend from foe while under the influence of the bloodwrath.  In sparring practice I attacked Field Marshal Teltoli Riverbuck of Platoon 4 with intent to kill.  During the Wayside Patrol, in a recent battle with vermin, I attacked Major General Mackbry Taffellappen, also with intent to kill, and threw a dagger into his shoulder.  Therefore, I submit my resignation from the position of Major General to you along with my resignation from the ranks of Fort Ruddler.  Included are my badge of rank and an extensive report of the Wayside Patrol experiment, given to Major General Mackbry Taffellappen for transportation to Fort Ruddler._

_Signed,_

_Riala Goldentail_


End file.
